


it's you that i've been waiting to find

by venomedveins



Series: of magic & monsters [10]
Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: F/M, Horror - There are real creatures now, M/M, Magic, Mentions of incest, Mpreg, Smut, Violence, mentions of child abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-28 17:58:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 28,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6339556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/venomedveins/pseuds/venomedveins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The journey through Alptra is both dangerous and illuminating.</p>
            </blockquote>





	it's you that i've been waiting to find

**Author's Note:**

> I cannot even imagine how this fic would have turned out without the support and help of habibinasir. She is absolutely amazing. Thank you for letting me ramble to you over Tumblr and taking my rough drafts and making them into amazing works of art.

Deep under the earth, hidden in the vast caverns of the underground, voices echo along the stones - curses and hisses of fury. They worry over secrets, battles not yet brought to fruition, and the rage that has over taken their royals. They strut along the shadows, faces gaunt and eyes blazing crimson, a plot to kill taking form when they pull one another into spaces filled with deceit and darkness. It seems the whole world is waiting for the murders to begin, for the prize to be claimed. 

Although the hallways drip with moisture, damp and pitch black, the rooms are lavish and beautifully decorated. It is a contrast when one steps from the horror of the passage and into the warmly lighted room of the prince. Caesar has paced the room a million times, tossing things from the surfaces of his furniture. A large stain of wine ruins a nearby tapestry, flecked with blood and ripped from his nails. He cannot stand this waiting, the suspense from waiting for a single message from that fuck Ashur. He wants what he has coveted and he will not be denied. 

"My son," Ilithyia appears from behind a curtain, gold curls glinting in the candle light. Her pink dress clings to the curve of her body, sheer and highlighting her immortal youth, "What troubles you, Caesar?"

"What is fucking purpose of this mission? Why do we not attack now?" Caesar spits, fingers drumming around a chalice of blood, the sticky liquid clinging to the gold sides. "We sit as if weak babe while the Alptraum gain more power."

"We have discussed this," Ilithyia sighs, crossing her arms over her chest, "We do not know what strength the Alptraum have now gained with their new kings nor the location of their castle. It is hidden away within the woods, somewhere, through a perilous journey filled with monsters and the same. We need to gather insight as to the best strategy to attack from the inside."

"By sending who? That magic fuck?" Caesar shakes his head, "We should have sent me in his place. I could have gained their trust, learned their weakness, and brought the child here."

"And how do you plan to do that? Your scent would have given you away and your eyes," Ilithyia moves around the room, eyeing the damage her son has inflicted. The whole space is in tatters, a tantrum that has torn even chunks of stone from the walls. "Ashur holds leverage as Nasir's brother. He will gain their trust much easier."

Caesar turns slowly towards his mother, fangs stained and sharp, "They are just dogs, mother."

"No." Ilithyia moves quickly, a blur to the naked eye, coming to stand against Caesar's chest, jaw caught in her hand. "You underestimate the power the flows in them now. It is why we have sent Ashur to report what magic has done to them. The Alpha wolf has always been powerful. You saw it in Gerulf and now it will grow inside of Agron. We cannot know what to expect unless we have direct information."

"I am better-" Caesar is cut off as Ilithyia gently strokes his cheek. 

"I know, my prince, I know you are better. You are formed of the darkest of shadow, enough to make the very underworld tremble at the sight of you. You are perfect, Caesar." Ilithyia presses her lips gently against Caesar's ear. "But we must consider what Agron has that you do not."

"The witch?" Caesar pulls back, eyes narrowing. 

"His _queen_ gives him power; and his power is ancient one. A god's power." Ilithyia's sharp teeth snap around the words, eyes slowly tracking over her son's face. This close, she can see the swirls of crimson mixing with the blue of his eyes, the fury and determination. 

"But when I gain their child," Caesar continues, fingers trailing over the lacing on the back of her dress, pressing between to touch bare skin, "I will have my champion. My weapon."

"And the Alptraum bitch can give you more. He can fill our army with enough beasts to take over this world and give us our eternal night." Ilithyia presses forward, hips snuggly pressing to his, her fingers trailing through his hair. "And you will rule it all. The king of the whole world."

"You forget, mother," Caesar murmurs, his breath ghosting slowly over her soft mouth, "I am only a prince. My father, Glaber, stands before all. You know this."

"A thing easily reminded," Ilithyia's hand strokes down Caesar's tunic, over the laces that keep it shut, further down and down. "With the right incentive."

Caesar considers her for a moment, brushing a hair from her cheek and watching her watch him. How far have they gone into delirium? How deep has this love been twisted, morphed into something wetter, sucking vice that Caesar cannot escape, does not want to. This is his sin, his triumph against a pathetic father, to bear the right of his own name. 

"I can smell you," Caesar whispers, thumb brushing against her lip, "the way you drip. Where is your husband to fill your need?"

"Away with the guard," Ilithyia grins slowly, wicked and lewd, "Far from home and between my thighs."

"The gods bless you then," Caesar works quickly, ties coming undo beneath his fingers, "that you have a son so willing to stand in his father's place."

\- - - 

Pietros presses his palm to his forehead, breath panting harsh and ragged through his chest. He's still trembling, skin damp and sticky, as he tries to ease his legs down flat. There is a dull throbbing in the base of his spine, a twinging that will grow into full out bruise by the afternoon. 

"I swear I will never get tired of this," Duro groans, leaning over the palette to reach for the nearby amphora of wine. His long back is streaked in sweat and seed, defining the muscles there in shadows and lights. 

"I agree." Moving across the bed, Auctus presses his lips to Pietros' hip, reaching across him to smack Duro's ass. "Your highness, do you want to share that with the rest of us?"

"Maybe," Duro grins over his shoulder, cheeky and bright, "What are you going to give me for it?"

"Was my cock not enough?" Auctus' fingers trail down Duro's smooth skin, teasing at the rim of his hole. 

"Or mine?" Barca raises his head from the pillows, ghosting of a grin spreading across his face. 

"Your cock is always enough," Pietros murmurs, pressing his lips wet and hot against Barca's chest. 

They dissolve back into kissing, Pietros whimpering when Barca fists his fingers in his hair, dragging him across the bed to pull the smaller man against his chest. Barca makes quick work of it, guiding Pietros until he's resting on top of him, training a soothing hand down his spine. Sprawled like this, Pietros can finally catch his breath again, lulled by the steady rise and fall of Barca's chest. 

"We are set to travel today," Duro flops nexts to the pair, Auctus curled behind him, "I talked to Agron yesterday and Melitta finally cleared Nasir for it."

"He is still really weak, but being stubborn about it." Pietros mutters, shaking his head, "I do not understand why we have to travel at all. Why can we not stay here? It seems so frivolous to travel back and forth every ten months."

“We spend half the year here and half the year there. Five months per season. If we spent winter and spring here, we'd die. The snow will freeze us all to the ground. The tents aren't strong enough to withstand the weather,” Auctus explains, palms spreading across Duro’s ribs, teasing the muscle there. “It is safer in the castle anyway. We are protected there, hidden by dangerous roads and monsters we allow to live on our land.”

“I've just gotten used to this place, and now you want me to try and memorize the layout of a castle?" Pietros asks, shifting around until he can lean up on his elbow.

"You won't have to worry about it that much. Court is a lot different at the castle. We have a lot more people and a lot more rules. Half the time we'll either be in meetings, court, or hiding in our rooms," Duro groans, reaching out to brush his fingertips down Pietros' arm. "Nasir will probably try and keep you close too."

"What does that mean?" Pietros glances between the men, suddenly realizing how at odds he really is. Pietros whole life has been traveling, the open road, the freedom to do whatever he wants within the realm of the Pythonissa lifestyle. Here though, he is expected to perform in a different way, rules and structure and barely contained animal.

"With Agron and Nasir becoming kings, they will be required to split their houses." Barca's deep voice rumbles in the quiet of the tent. "They'll have separate servants and rooms within the castle. Nasir will probably ask you to stay with him and the baby."

"I'll go with Duro. I've been his bodyguard for a long time." Auctus sighs, eyes skirting off the others, staring down at his hands. He had hoped that they would not have this conversation like this, still sticky with each other and clinging. He had thought that he might have been able to talk Barca down, silence his protests to the idea, but it seems to no avail. 

"My place is with the royal guard. It has been since I was five years old," Barca mutters, waving his hand off of Pietros' back. 

"But-" Pietros swallows slow and thick, a numb throbbing wheeling in his chest. "What are you all saying? I don’t understand."

"Barca, we could ask Agron to instate you as Pietros' permanent guard. The castle is big, but not that big. It's not like we can't sneak around-" Duro leans up too, unable to stand the hot tears that are filling Pietros' eyes. "I'm a prince. I have some say. And after the baby is born, all eyes will be off us and on them.”

"Bambi," Auctus' is that placating calm, the tone people get when they are preparing to deliver a blow. "Barca has a point. I mean, as much as I love you-"

"As much as you love me what? You and Barca have decided that it's not worth the effort to be with us?" Duro snarls, feeling his eyes beginning to glow. "That was fun but now it’s over, no matter what Pietros and I are feeling?”

“Duro-“ Auctus moves to soothe, but Duro is quick to move away. 

“Is this what you guys fucking talk about behind our backs? How you don’t want to risk being with us?”

"It's not about the risk," Barca sits up, pulling the blankets over his lap. "Duro, you must think about this wisely. You're a prince. Pietros is the right hand and favorite of the king. It makes sense for you two to be together. Auctus and I are lower, so much lower, and our job is to protect you. With all costs. We are the pieces that do not fit, not you. Think of what the court will say, the elders."

“Fuck them! You said you loved me,” Duro turns dangerous eyes towards Auctus, “You asked for my hand before Agron even had the power to grant it.”

“I do love you!” Auctus reaches out, managing to wrap a hand around the back of Duro’s neck, “I do love you and that is why I want to protect you. You need to be with someone that is on the same level as you, someone worthy of you. The same is for Pietros. You both deserve more.”

"I won’t listen to this anymore." Pietros pulls back from everyone, moving to draw his knees to his chest at the end of the bed. “You speak of me, not to me, and lay on titles that you think I have. I am nothing more than Nasir’s servant and advisor. I have no royal blood in me. No fucking crown on my head.”

“You are important though. You are his right hand and you know Nasir will give you title as soon as he reaches the court. Agron will not deny him that.” Barca reaches out, gently ghosting his hand along Pietros’ side. 

“All my life I have had people tell me who I can be with, who i am, where i will go,” Pietros chokes out, “What my worth is, either on my back or as entertainment. I did not think I would hear it from you both.”

“Pietros please,” Auctus starts, reaching over to try and take Pietros’ hand, flinching when he is shoved away. “Understand we are not doing this to hurt Duro and you. We want what is best.”

Barca scrubs his fingers across his face, rubbing at his eyes, “You couldn’t have possibly thought this was forever. Our job is to die for you.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Duro snaps, anger bristling over his skin. “We’ve never asked you to sacrifice yourselves for our happiness!” 

“You don’t have to!” Barca retorts, voice sharp and thick with frustration, “We do so because it is what is required of us. It was foolish to ever allow us to forget that. It has always been there and it always will. A flightless dream to ever think that a servant could be with royal blood.”

“I would have rather died,” Pietros spits, turning back to glare at the group, skin hot and magic crackling, “I would have rather you taken your sword and pierced it through me than to ever hear those words slip past your mouth after this. After this night, as if none of this mattered. Were you planning on ending this the whole evening?”

“I only aimed to spare you from the sorrow of watching Auctus and I burn on a pyre, knowing it was what we were always destined for.” Barca sighs miserably, staring down at his hands. “There will always be a war, Pietros. There will always be someone to fight and someone will die. It was my choice to join up with the guard and it is my choice to die with it.”

“Stop it! Stop speaking!” Pietros can feel the dull ache in his chest twisting, hot and feral pain through his throat, “I won’t hear this. I can’t.”

“Pietros, it is our fate.” Barca turns imploring eyes upwards, begging the younger man to understand that he is sacrificing himself already for Pietros, wanting him to have the chance to truly be happy. 

“You’re breaking my heart,” Pietros chokes out, ashamed of the emotion, ashamed to feel this broken standing before these men whom he loves with all his being. He cannot stand the thought of being separated from any of them, and yet once again the choice has been removed from his hands. 

“Pietros,” Auctus scoots down the blankets, hand staying on the back of Duro’s neck, but he can’t quite reach the smaller man. “Don’t-“

It’s too late, the damage has already been done. He stands quickly, tossing the blankets back roughly onto the bed, not bothering to turn and see where they land. Quickly, he stoops down and yanks on the thick, onyx and embroidered pants he had worn inside of the tent, still an outsider even with how long he’s been here. Pietros doesn’t bother looking at them, sniffling loudly as he forgets his cloak, snatching up his shoes and slipping out of the door. 

“Fuck,” Auctus sighs miserably, flopping back on the bed. He expects Duro to lay down next to him. He’s surprised when the prince follows Pietros’ lead, moving around the room to snatch up his clothes. 

“Bambi, where are you going?” Auctus leans up on his elbow, not daring to glance at Barca. 

Pausing in the doorway, pale glow of sunrise behind him, Duro shudders a little, his profile dark. “To serve my king and claim my title as crowned prince of Alptra.”

“Duro-“ Auctus can’t think of anything else to say, throat tightening past the point of speech. 

“Goodbye.”

 

\- - -

 

Lacing their fingers together, Agron wraps his free arm around Nasir's shoulder, slowly and carefully guiding him up until they're both standing. He doesn't miss the way Nasir trembles, shuddering muscles that have been without use for days. Agron had refused to leave his side, sitting or laying next to him, trying to keep him as entertained as possible. He couldn't shake the guilt, the memory of not being there when Nasir needed him the most.

"Why do I feel," Nasir grumbles, pressing his hand to the side of his stomach, "like I have gained another fifteen pounds this week?"

"Your legs are just unsure of themselves," Agron reassures, kissing Nasir's temple, "You are as radiant as you have always been."

"And you still know how to flatter,” Nasir rolls his eyes, too fond to smother his grin completely. 

"I only speak the truth," Agron nuzzles his nose against Nasir's curls, "How is my little Sigrún today?"

"We are not naming our daughter Sigrún," Nasir turns to slips his arms over Agron's shoulders, smiling up at him, "Nor are we naming it Hereward, Wulfstan, Gisila, Adalwolf, Sigihard, or Kaiser." Nasir grins. "But the baby is well. I feel better."

"Kaiser means king," Agron sings, palm warm where he massages the back of Nasir's neck. 

"We do not know if the baby is a boy or a girl, no matter what the fucking oracles say," Nasir replies, tapping the tip of Agron's nose, "And all I care about is whether the baby is healthy and how much it is going to look like you."

"If it's lucky, it'll take after you," Agron smiles, something gentle and soft settling across his face, "In both looks and strength, a mini version of you with your courage and perseverance and dark hair." 

“You’re flattering again,” Nasir accuses, unable to swallow the giggle as he lightly taps Agron’s cheek with his fingertips. “Is this how you plan to run our kingdom now? Flattery and compliments to soothe the troubled hearts of our enemies?”

“No,” Agron stoops, peppering kisses all over Nasir’s face even as he tries to pull away, “I figured I would let you woo them with your charming personality and affinity for small, sharp knives.”

“Excellent plan.” 

Agron turns Nasir then, gently gathering the long strands of his hair over his shoulders and down his back. It’s something that Agron is surprised he enjoys, having stroked through Nasir’s crown countless times before. Standing behind him like this, small jeweled comb in hand, Agron untangles the strands, pulling them into a more manageable plait. He knows it strains Nasir’s back, twists him at an odd angle, and Agron is happy to help, to serve and reduce any pain that Nasir has even, if it is such a simple task. 

“I could have waited,” Nasir murmurs, resisting the urge to lean his back against Agron’s chest, “Pietros is supposed to come meet me before we leave.”

“I don’t mind.” Agron murmurs, stroking his fingers along the soft skin over Nasir’s shoulders, tracing the cut of his collarbone. He’s spent all week tracing fingers all over Nasir’s skin, soothing over freckles and residing glitter, the gold shimmering in a faint path under Agron’s touch. Nasir burns so warm now, feverish with magic and pregnancy, and Agron wants to drink it all down. He never gets tired of pressing kisses against Nasir’s back, feeling his chest expand with breath, heartbeats fluttering under Agron’s fingers. 

‘I fear if you keep touching me like that, you are going to send me back to sleep.” Nasir stifles a yawn, one hand rubbing over his face. 

“It may not be a bad thing,” Agron braids quickly, something simple as Nasir will be hidden mostly under a cloak all day anyway, “You should rest more. I can always push traveling back for another week.”

“We are already behind schedule, my king,” Turning, Nasir gently squeezes Agron’s hands, “We must go.”

"You are all that matters, your safety and health," Agron raises their joined hands to brush a kiss across Nasir's knuckles, pressing his teeth gently to the bone. “You were bedridden for a week. If you need more time-“ 

"I'm okay. I promise. I feel better." Nasir reassures, bumping his nose against Agron's before pulling away. 

It’s not a lie, not really. Nasir is still exhausted, body sore and stomach tight, as if the skin has pulled taught and harsh back across the bulge. It’s nothing that he can change though. Melitta had warned him, through his haze, that there was a larger chance now that the baby would be born premature, before the expected date. He knows it’s true, can already feel his magic drawing down and towards the baby, wanting to cocoon it in light and protection. Ignoring those thoughts, he quickly snatches up his cloak, swinging the crimson fabric around himself and latching the silver wolf claps together. Nasir turns back, comment on the tip of his tongue, but he pauses when he takes in Agron’s expression. 

His brow is furrowed, deepening the crease around his eyes and making his nose more pointed. Agron's face holds the key elements of the Alptra royal family - strong jaw, regal brow, and the soft almost romantic cupid's bow of his upper lip. Nasir has seen some characteristics in Duro, even Gerulf had the same straight nose, but Agron is all of it - the best and worst qualities. Even the glimmering supernatural ring of malachite around his iris speaks of his birthright, thousands of years of true Alpha power now coursing through him. 

"You know," Nasir grins slow, teasing and gleeful, "my father used to tell me if I frowned like that, my face would get stuck that way. Would be a shame if you hid your dimples away indefinitely."

"I do not think anyone would miss them," Agron shrugs, raising one shoulder half-heartedly. 

"That’s not true. I would certainly miss the grin that accompanies them if you were to forever get stuck scowling," Nasir shakes his head, crossing the distance to press his palms to Agorn's chest. "What causes stress now? Mind drifting to some young lad you have missed this past week you’ve been stuck inside with me?” Nasir’s tone is teasing, but he does not miss the flash of Agron’s eyes, shaking his head. 

“As if anyone forced me to stay with you,” Agron grumbles, palms warm as they trace blindly over Nasir’s tattoo. “I nearly tore apart the whole guard to get to you. Nor has anyone thought to try and gain my attention in a long while.”

“You sell yourself short.” Nasir taps his fingers on the leather straps of Agron’s armor, skin warm underneath. It is not enough to keep him warm, but Nasir will not comment on it. “Do not think me so blind as to not notice the eyes that follow you. I doubt you had any trouble filling your bed before I appeared."

"I do not recall. They all fall in comparison to you." Agron replies, coy and sneaky, the perfect image of charm. Nasir rolls his eyes at him, reaching up to poke one of the crescents now denting Agron's cheek. 

“How long have you practiced that line?” 

“Not a line. Just the truth. You know everyone else has become but a blur, a forgotten image, ever since I met you.” Agron’s cheeky grin just deepens his dimples, eyes bright with mischief. “Even in your state.”

"Ass! I am this way because of you. You-" Nasir flounders for something to say, distracted by Agron's big arms circling around him, drawing him closer. 

"I'm what? You did not seem to complain when cock was within you," Agron rocks them, leaning down into Nasir's space. He watches the way Nasir's mouth opens and closes, eyes tracking all over Agron's face. 

"As if I would turn you away. You are a ridiculous, unscrupulous, insatiable man and I-" Nasir bites, shaking his head as Agron continues to prompt him, raising an eyebrow. 

“And you what? Do continue.” Agron’s grin is cocky, self-assuredly tilting his head to the side. 

“I adore you way too much.”

Agron's laugh fills the tent, voice loud and bouncing around the now empty space. Only the palette of the bed remains, stripped of everything except a single fur blanket, all their belongings having been packed yesterday. Stooping, Agron hides his glee in Nasir's neck, kissing the skin there in a fond, innocent way. It still leaves goosebumps all over Nasir's skin, still so taken by his husband. 

"My eyes must deceive me. You both fall to laughter? It must be madness." A voice interrupts from the doorway, early morning light spilling across the packed dirt floor. 

"Spartacus!" 

Nasir turns away from Agron, grinning as he moves across the room to embrace the other man tightly. His thick leather and metal armor dig into Nasir’s own simple tunic, Spartacus dressed in full gear, long swords clasped to each hip. Arching back, Nasir has to lean up a little to press a kiss to Spartacus' stubble rough cheek.

Over his shoulder, Spartacus lowers his head in as much of a bow as he can, showing his submission to the king. It’s a risk, he knows, to touch Nasir, even in the innocent act of greeting. Nasir does not know any better, but Spartacus does. He can see it across the king’s face. Agron fights with himself, lips curling over a growl that itches to get out. It’s not his fault, not really, instinct to tear apart anyone who touches his mate and heir. Spartacus is careful to gently but firmly push Nasir back, giving him a gentle and pleasant smile. 

"I am glad to see you are back on your feet. We were very worried. Crixus said you were in immense amount of pain when he carried you in." Spartacus does not miss the way Agron's nose wrinkles in displeasure at the memory.

"I am well. It seems that this child has already inherited its father's impatience," Nasir moves back, settling when he feels the familiar weight of Agron's arm around his shoulders. He rubs his hand over his stomach comfortingly, smiling down at it. "Just a false alarm."

"Just eager to be in the world," Agron's fingers brush against Nasir's cheek. "Must be hearing everyone talking about it and wants to join in."

"Well, the baby can wait a little longer." Nasir huffs, shaking his head, "I am not bringing it into the world in the middle of the woods."

"Speaking of," Spartacus cuts in, "Crixus and I want to go over last minute details about guard formation and the path."

"Is he still trying to go through the fucking marshes?" Agron growls, rolling his eyes. 

“Agron, you know it could save us time.” Spartacus begins, crossing his arms over his chest. He knows there is no reasoning though, not when it comes to the Lost Marshes. It is easy for any traveler to get lost in the identical landscapes, slowly driven mad by the fog. There is only one path through it, a clear line that only a few have ever traveled – Crixus and Spartacus being two of them. 

“The answer is no. No fucking way.” 

With a rough kiss to Nasir’s cheek, Agron moves quickly around the room, snatching up weapons and clothes. He swings his cloak around with one hand while his other secures his sword with the other, having to dedicate both to his hip when Nasir comes over to help. He easily loops the wolves’ snarling mouths together, securing the royal fabric with a soft click. The twisted metal of the clasps reminds him of Gerulf’s throne, beasts snapping and snarling at each other until one resigned supreme. Nasir supposes it is a lot like Alptraum politics. 

“Agron,” Nasir soothes, brushing the fur down smoothly around Agron’s chest, fisting the leather straps indicating his status over it. “We’ll figure it out. Go with Spartacus. I’ll get the people ready and get the horses.”

“Please consider riding in the wagon,” Agron urges, taking his crown from Nasir, easing it over his head. 

“I’m not riding in the wagon like some bag of grain,” Nasir gently pushes Agron away from him, “Now go. I’ll see you later.”

Agron hesitates a moment longer, looking torn between leaving Nasir and going with Spartacus. The moment is stolen from him though as suddenly servants crowd in through the door, quickly beginning to pack up the last few pieces of furniture and tear down the tent. Nasir slips away through the crowd, waving his hand behind him, forcing Agron to follow Spartacus in the opposite direction. 

\- - -

 

The sheath is ornamental, intricately carved twin snakes intertwined with jewels along their scales. In the center of each of their open mouths, a small diamond glimmers clear and bright. Nasir strokes over them lovingly, remembering when his father had first given them to him, barely seven years old. They were to be Nasir's companion, his friend, his protector for all his life. 

He can still remember his father’s steady clapping, keeping time as Nasir and Pietros went through the motions, small fingers laced tightly through the blades. They had practiced on their time off, pulled over on the road to gather water or while the older boys were in the town. The musical clanging of their blades hitting, the easy way that Pietros could fold himself into acrobatic flips and darts. Nasir was smaller though, easier to swing himself around and aim low, always easier to launch himself up with a secure foot on a wagon wheel or tree to jump in the air.

Strapping the daggers to saddle, carefully within reach, Nasir next loads his newest companion into a large basket, filled with warm stones and grass. Stroking his finger over Apep's head, he gently kisses the top of the snake's crown, accepting the kiss lick to his cheek in return. He has not been a fan of this newly cold temperature, hiding under blankets or trying to stretch near the fire, hissing when anyone gets too close. Apep even tried to wiggle his way between Agron and Nasir while they laid on the bed, something that the larger man was quick to push the snake back into his warmed den. Nasir does not know yet what role the snake will play, whether it will be the baby's protector or if Apep's fate is something larger. Nasir just knows that the snake holds magic, more than he appears. 

He's just set the basket into the large wagon when a shadow falls across Nasir's back, blackening the sunlight around him. It’s like something explodes within Nasir, goosebumps rising on skin and tension curling vicious and cruel along his back. He has to take a deep breath, fingers turning to claws on the rough wood of the wagon, reminding himself over and over like a mantra that Gerulf is dead. There is no one here to hurt him. The feeling of anger and pain are just impressions within Nasir’s mind, just defenses against months of fearing for his life. He turns slowly, swallowing up as much courage as he can, surprised when Pietros stands behind him – not a threat at all. 

“Pietros,” Nasir tries to smile, the feeling of dread boiling deep in his stomach. The way Pietros is standing, hands curled at his sides, dark bruises under his eyes, the magic that crackles around him, turning the air foul and acidic. “You startled me. Where were you this morning? I thought you wanted to pray before we left?”

“I was busy,” Pietros’ tone is flat, devoid of his usual happy banter. “I have something to discuss with you.”

“Okay.” Nasir leans back against the side of the wagon, crossing his arms carefully over his chest, “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

“I want to go home.” Pietros’ veil billows a little with the words, warm air puffing out behind the thick cloth. 

“Go home? You are home. We both promised to try and make this our home now,” Nasir’s fears seem to manifest, clawing at his throat, turning his face warm. 

“ _You_ are home, Nasir. You are the king. You’re pregnant. You have it all laid out before you, but I’m-“ Pietros’ cold tone falters just slightly as he ducks his head, staring at the floor, “I’m lost here.”

“Pietros, we are brothers. Wherever one of us is the other has a place as well.” Stepping forward, Nasir tries to take Pietros’ hands only to be brushed off. “No matter what, you will always belong next to me.”

“No.” Pietros bitterly shakes his head, mouth twisted. “You are wrong. You only want it to be that way.”

“Why are you saying this to me?” Nasir grits out, choking through feelings he doesn’t want to have. He shakes his head a little, trying to clear it all away. “You are my family. We are one.”

Pietros will not meet his eye, drawn tight in on himself and brow furrowed. He looks so conflicted, as if the words are daggers that he holds in a trembling grip, ready to plunge them deep into Nasir’s chest. 

“You mean those words kindly, but they are a lie.” Nasir gasps softly in response to Pietros’ continuing. “We are here because of you. If you had just stayed in the wagon like Mika told you, but you insisted on coming out and seeing the people. You decided on the dance. You chose the older brother. You begged me to stay with you. You put this plan into motion.”

“I did not ask to be married-“ Nasir tries to cut in, the vicious tang of betrayal dampening his tongue. 

“You did! Maybe not with words but with your body,” Pietros’ eyes blaze as he glares down at Nasir, “You jumped up into Agron’s lap and you haven’t left since. The only reason we are even stuck here is because what you can give him.”

“Pietros, we both had suffered since being sold to the Alptraum. This journey has not been easy on either one of us,” Nasir curses his anger, the rage making his voice tremble, “But do not stand before me and tell me that all of it is my fault because I did what I was ordered to do. If I hadn’t married Agron, you know that Gerulf would have slaughtered all of us.”

“All of us but you. It’s all about you. It always has been.” Pietros spits, magic lashing out. A dark vine springs from the earth, wrapping suddenly around Nasir’s wrist and _squeezing_. The thorns bite into his skin, blood suddenly dripping down his fingers in lines of bright red, smelling bitterly of copper and acid. Nasir roughly jerks his arm up in response, his own magic withering the strand away into a black molten ring. He does not stop the blood flow through, letting the wound go. 

With tear bleary eyes, Nasir stares up at Pietros in disbelief, pain and sorrow mingling on his brow. He knows Pietros didn’t mean to, not really, just lashing out because he’s hurt. It only lasts a moment, just a fleeting thing before he hardens himself up, shoulders squaring as he levels with his best friend. 

“Fine. If that’s what you want,” Nasir spits, biting into his bottom lip. 

“What?” Pietros’ eyebrows raise in disbelief, his expression half hidden by his veil. 

“If you want to hurt me because you’re hurting, then fine. Blame me. I came out of the wagon. I healed Agron and I married him. This whole thing is my fault,” Nasir shrugs, spreading his arms wide, “But I am not letting you leave. You have to stay with us.”

“Why? I’m not your slave,” Pietros tries to bite out, power behind his words faltering. “You only want me here because I’m one of the only ones who know how you’re going to bring that baby into the world. That’s all you ever want me around for, to serve you.”

“I’m not letting you leave because I love you,” Nasir hisses, bloody hand wrapping around Pietros’, leaving a wet mark, “You are my brother. And I will not let you return to my father who will sell you and sell you and sell you until you have nothing left. Until you do not even recognize yourself. If I can spare you from that, I will.”

“Nasir,” Pietros rubs his fingers over his eyes. He wants to fight, burn and lash out until the aching in his chest stops. He wants to go back, so far back before he memorized the taste of happiness, of the feeling of being surrounded by safety and pleasure. He wishes he could peel them all from his skin, like the feeling of glue left to try on fingers.

“I’m not going to fight with you over this.” Nasir snips, shaking his head, “Not now.”

Pietros doesn’t get a chance to reply, a deep growl reverberating from behind them as suddenly Agron shoves through the crowd. He’s perfectly composed except for the wild glowing of his eyes, face pointed and snarling with teeth twice the size of normal. As soon as Nasir sees him, he drops Pietros’ hand, curling his fingers around his wrist. Instantly, his skin stitches back together, tiny gashes swallowed up by new skin. 

“What’s wrong? Why are you bleeding?” Agron nudges past Pietros, fingers curling over Nasir’s shoulder. His eyes track over his husband’s face, carefully examining him before cupping his cheeks. Heart throbbing, it’s not anger that causes Agron’s expression, but instead fear. 

“I’m fine. I snagged myself on a rough piece of wood. I healed it.” Nasir smiles charmingly up at him, slipping his now blood free hand into Agron’s. Leaning on his toes, he kisses Agron’s nose. “Come on. Let’s get going. I’m tired of just standing around.”

Agron looks uncertainly between the pair before nodding, mouth curled into concern. Nasir is quick to kiss it away though, leading his husband towards where their horses stand together. He does not turn back to look at Pietros.

\- - - 

The country of Alptra is a place of many things. Along the northern border, a large mountain range spans the skin. The people who live on the base have given it the name Umbra for the dark creatures that lurk along the rock formation, their white eyes the only light within the thick woods crawling up the base. Behind the range and to the east, the land of Taurunt resides. It is the land of the minotaurs, giant men with horns and folded ears, thick rings pierced through their noses show their status. They are allies of the Alptra, but always cautiously separate. 

To the East and West, forests ensnare the unseasoned traveler, creatures and monsters calling the thick pines and cedars home. There are fairies who play games, weaving images into the shade that can entice anyone off the road. sickly children run the length of the path, their eyes black and mouths toothless. Pools of water that lure men and women alike to their cool, still surface with a soft song only to drown them in a few inches of water. Mages employ their familiars to track their prey until they can convene and use their magic for the worst. They often slip through the southern border into Loinnir, elf country. 

The country of Muka separates Loinnir and Taurunt. Its terrain is unnatural for the area, and many suspect dark magic is to blame, thick jungles where animals and men alike slither along the ground and travel through the trees. It is from this land that Apep hails, snake people with their pets of poison. 

The western border of Alptra is split in half, the southern side leading to the sea. There is a town named Onda that acts as the main port. It is there that Gerulf employed the Pontas pirates. North of the ocean, Maerif spans. It is a frozen desert country, populated by scholars and the syphnix, both so pale they nearly blend into the snow itself. They share an even further north border with the Hyalus mountains, the home of the Seers. 

When the Alptraum won the land from the Argentum in the Great War of Moon Children, the Alptra forged alliances with the creatures that lurk within the forests and through the grassy plains. They would only travel through their homes once every ten months (the year consisting of twenty months, five for each season). The Alptra would not break their alliance and would not force the creatures from their own, if and only if, when Alptra ever needed their assistance, they would come. Of course, this type of alliance can be skewed sometimes, forgotten when times are desperate and kings are mad. 

It was for this reason that lords and ladies, nobility in every right, have been stationed within different parts of the country. They act as the eyes and ears of the king, keeping correspondence throughout the year and totaling twelve together. During the winter months, the group reconvenes in the castle walls to hold court and receive/give information for the coming months. 

The castle itself is nestled in the center of a large circle of mountains in the Umbra range, completely surrounded on all sides by the snowy peaks. Due to the location, the royal grounds are able to extend beyond just the crust but deep into the ground itself, a series of tunnels and chambers kept warm by hidden springs that run under the mountain range. There is a moat that surrounds the whole town beyond the castle walls, a mile-long spans of water that is permanently frozen during the snowy months. Under the ice, dark shadows of water monsters can be seen swimming deep within the pools and the peaks around the structure itself are guarded by rabid packs of wolves. 

Legends foretell that Eins, the first Alptra king, built the place to house and hide his children with Caelesties, the first children of the race. Set in the safe clutches of the mountains' shadows, he carved the city with the help of her power, turning the plain stones of the earth into silver and jewels, crafting them together with starlight and the night’s own seed. It is a beautiful place, sharp towers that reach towards the sky, alabaster walls and stained glass windows – a haven perfect for gods among men and the protection from Caelesties’ jealous sun wife. Carved with his own claws on the keystone above the main hall, Eins gave it the name Galena.

\- - - 

 

Given the amount of people traveling, Agron is surprised that they manage to travel a complete three days before anything happens. 

This journey has never been easy, and yet without the massive shadow of Gerulf, the people seem hopeful. They sing and shout to one another, keeping up a constant dialogue of laughter even into the darkness of night. Carefully, they pass through the forest around the summer territory and onto the rolling plains. It's a long expanse of grass, fields, and sky, half frozen from the winter chill. 

The third day seems to echo the other two. They begin to travel as the sun rises, not yet weary of travel and still eager. Agron and Nasir spend most of the day in silent conversation, rebuking Solonius' attempts at traveling next to them and the tasteless jokes the Pontas guards make to one another. Neither have any interest in attempting to make friends with the vulgar men, instead captivated by their own going debate on the baby's future name. 

When the sun sets, the make camp in the center of an open field, a river cutting through the tall grasses. It is here that campfires are built, the glow illuminating towards the star speckled sky. There is no point in pitching a tent to tear it down a few hours later, so the royals crowd around a large fire, huddling close for warmth. 

Agron leans heavily back on his own stack of cushions, cup of mulled wine close on his hip. Through the flames, he gazes out at his people, watching Nasir move among them, wrapped tightly in a silver blanket. The peasants stare at him in awe, bowing deeply as Nasir passes, greeting them with a nod and smile. Even after all this time, they're still fascinated by him, waiting for a sign of his magic - both the light and dark. 

Agron cannot imagine what it must be like to see but not really know him, to be captivated by the magic but not see the man. Privileged above all others, Agron knows Nasir in ways that no one else does, can read him as if the back of his own hand, as if somewhere along the way they have joined together into one. Every breath and moment that they're together is perfect, but when they're apart, Agron swears he's never felt that sort of pain. Even watching him now, a beacon of the future, Agron needs him next to him, needs to feel his solidness, taste the laughter and happiness on him when the baby moves.

"There you are," Agron greets, spreading his arms and the blanket around them wide as Nasir draws closer. He can see Nasir shivering, still not used to the cold. "Come sit beside me and rest." 

"I feel as if I have sat all day," Nasir grumbles moodily, using Agron's outstretched arm to help lower himself down onto the cushion. His back aches miserably, causing him to lean to the side, curling close with his head on Agron's chest. "And yet all I wish to do is sit more."

"You tired yourself by riding," Agron chastises gently, wrapping his arm and blanket snuggly over Nasir's body. "You should be within the wagon."

"I am not riding among the grains and luggage like some rolled blanket,” Nasir mutters, nuzzling against Agron’s rough tunic. Agron carefully pulls the furred blanket over him, watching their breaths mingle in a damp gray cloud before them. 

“You are a king,” Agron sooths, teasing and light, “and can do what you desire.”

“I desire food and the pleasure of my husband’s company.” Nasir pulls his knees closer. "Without being scolded."

“I’m not scolding,” Agron rubs his fingers through Nasir’s hair, settling lower onto his cushion. “I know you’ve had a few rough days and I want to take care of you.”

Nasir sighs heavily, leaning into the massaging fingers. Over the week in which he was forced into bedrest, Agron would often rub his hands through Nasir’s hair, rubbing knots out of his back, and relax him. Nasir is sure he has already become addicted to the feeling. 

"Pietros still will not talk to me," Nasir mutters, fiddling with his wedding band. "I feel like everything is slowly slipping out of my grasp. I could barely make a flame earlier. I've been bled dry."

"I know you're exhausted," Agron sympathizes, pressing his lips to Nasir's temple, "Are you still having the nightmares about the twins?"

"Völva gave me a potion to block them," Nasir motions towards a small vile leaning nearby. "I've never had dreams like this. They're not just nightmares. It's as if Mika and Jem-"

"As if they're what?" Agron prompts, gently tilting Nasir’s head up to see him. “You can tell me.”

“It’s as if they’re trying to talk to me,” Nasir sighs deeply, miserably shaking his head. “But I’ve never heard of any magic like this. My mother probably would have known but I was so young when she-“ Agron gently brushes his thumb over Nasir’s cheek, silently reassuring him. “Regardless.” Nasir turns his eyes back up to Agron, “It’s probably just my body’s reaction to all the stress lately and the fighting with Pietros. My magic-”

“Your magic isn’t limitless,” Agron kisses Nasir’s forehead tenderly, “You have stretched yourself beyond your means and have exhausted yourself.” He holds Nasir’s face between his warm palms, smiling down at him. “Take the potion. Eat something. And lay down. I won’t leave your side.”

“I have to-“ Nasir motions across the fire, seeming to want to rise. 

“You do not have to do anything. There are guards and healers and other people that can take care of each other. Your only job is to take care of you and this baby.” 

Handing the vial to Nasir, Agron wraps his hand around the cork and opens it, leveling Nasir with a look. He watches carefully as Nasir tips it back, quickly swallowing the murky blue liquid, coughing a little as he swallows, cringing. From the smell, it does not appear to taste good. Agron is quick to hand Nasir his plate next, filled to the top with enough food for at least three men. Flashing a dimpled smile, Agron nods towards it, clearly not going to lay back down until he sees his husband begin to eat. 

Sighing through his nose, Nasir grumpily picks up a piece of bread, muttering, “Yes, Daddy.”

Laughing, Agron reaches out and pinches Nasir’s cheek, “Good boy.”

 

\- - - 

When Agron comes to, it is the sickening feeling that something is wrong. He must have dozed off sometime between Duro's poor attempt at telling 'scary stories' and Nasir's soft laughter in his ear. It’s quiet now, the frosty night time air only interrupted by the soft snores of the people around him. The fires have died down, their smoky embers barely giving off a glow, the darkness seeming to swallow the encampment. People are sprawled all around, huddled close for warmth and protection, the next sleeping person only a few feet away. Agron instinctively rolls towards where the fire once burned, reaching out, startled when his fingers dig into cold grass.

Sitting up, Agron is forced to half shift, using his heightened and glowing vision, to peer out at the fields and trees around him. He's used to Nasir getting up in the middle of the night, sometimes restless or needing something, but never long enough for the bed to turn cold. They are not in familiar territory though, not somewhere that Nasir can walk safely under the careful watch of the guard. The fear settles hot and stinging in Agron’s chest, forcing him up and into action. Reaching out, Agron snags Duro’s ankle, shaking it roughly. 

“Wha?” Lifting his head from his curled arm, Duro blearily looks around, face scrunched in confusion. His movement startles Tove into consciousness, rubbing at his face. “Agron? What’s wrong?”

“Nasir is missing.” Agron hisses, crouch running to Spartacus and shaking him awake, waking Crixus in the process. 

They move silently, careful not to wake the others or alert the peasants. The last thing they need is widespread pandemonium due to the missing consort. Instead, the five men spread out, carefully picking their way towards the thick woods to the west of their encampment. It is even darker within the forest, the tree long shadows that allow no moonlight through their thick canopy. Birds and creatures call out to them, a rustling of animals creates a barrier where no singular noise can be separated. 

“Do you know where he may have gone?” Spartacus asks, fingers twitching on the hilt of his swords. 

“No. He wouldn’t have left without telling me. He never leaves without telling me.” The panic in Agron’s voice is evident, shoulder tense. The muscles of his bare back seem to ripple as he fidgets with his own weapons, eyes tracking back and forth for any sign of his husband. 

“Perhaps he went to relieve himself and got confused? These woods can be confusing in the dark,” Duro tries to comfort, gently patting Agron’s bare shoulder. 

“I didn’t even notice though,” Agron mutters, the blame evident in his voice. 

“Was he sleeping with you then? And you did not feel him get up?” Crixus’ asks unbelievingly, charging through the thick brush. 

“I fucking told you,” Agron snaps, barely containing the urge to snarl, “I woke and he was gone. I felt nothing. He was just there and then he wasn’t.”

“So, Nasir, who is thick with child and can barely sit upon the earth without a helping hand, managed to get up from you and flee somewhere into these woods? Yet you slept on as if babe?” Crixus’ words are thick with scorn, chastising and unbelieving. It is clear that Crixus has not let their fight go, still holding onto the grudges of having Agron attack him for no reason. “Did you two fight? Did you open your fucking mouth again? Should we even be trying to force him back to you?”

“You fucking shit-“ Agron whirls around, raising his sword, only for Spartacus to quickly interrupt them. 

“Hold tongue! Do you hear that?”

The men pause, barely breathing as they tune their ears to the sounds of the forest. It is full with life this time of night, owls and foxes and twittering bugs that screech and sing. There is a large boar rustling around close by, the soft singing voices of the forest gods. Above all of it is the soft, musical sound of water over pebbles. It’s not loud enough to be a major river or stream, but perhaps a brook leading into something larger – a lake? None of the men can tell. 

Spartacus holds up two of his fingers, motioning for the group to follow him as he inches through the trees, grip sure on his swords. To his left, Agron stays close and tight, poised for an invisible threat. Every moment that Nasir is not found, his chest tightens and chokes him. He should have woken, he should have felt the faintest movement from Nasir. 

It’s not very far until there is a break in the foliage, the forest opening into a small clearing, moonlight shimmering on the surface of a fairly large lake. The water seems to move of its own accord, small rippling waves that lick at the glassy stones on the shore. There is no life around these waters, no birds or insects singing. Instead, silence presses heavy and deep into the clearing, suffocating everything here. To the right of the shore, a small gathering of grass and ferns cluster together, and standing in the center is a very large horse. Or, what appears to be a horse. It's skin is unnaturally pale white, shimmering as if the inside of a clam, shimmering green and then pink. The body is too long, appearing twice as long as any natural horse should. Its mane is made of dripping strands of seaweed and kelp, the leaves sticking to one another and hanging in greasy strands. Under heavy lids, violet eyes glare out, void of any other color or pupil. 

Standing before it with hand outstretched, Nasir stands perfectly still, not even appearing to be breathing. He must have lost his blanket somewhere along the way, skin covered in tiny goosebumps as he stands in his thin tunic. Placed delicately in his palm, a tower of sugar cubes are presented - an offering to the beast before him. Slowly, as if weighing the threat, the kelpie lowers its head down, opening its thick lips to nuzzle against Nasir's wrist. As it begins to eat, a black, sticky liquid secrets from its mouth, staining Nasir's hand and wrist.

"Agron-" Tove hisses, taking a half aborted step forward, only pausing when the king holds up his hand. 

"Wait."

The panic has begun to throb in Agron's skull, a steady pace to match his heartbeat. He remembers the stories of these animals, the monsters with sticky skin that will lead their prey down into the murky waters below, drowning them before peeling off their flesh. No one who has ever been seduced to ride it has survived. 

Agron is desperately trying to figure a way in which he can grab Nasir before the kelpie does, when Nasir slowly begins to move. Keeping his hand to the horses' mouth, he slowly raises the other one behind, moving as if he aims to wrap himself around in an embrace. Instead, he grasps onto something hidden behind the beast's massive head, slowly and carefully retracting his stance. It is not until he pushes the thing behind him that the men can clearly see what it is - a bleary eyed and soaking wet child. 

The little girl seems to slowly be waking, looking around with a trembling lip as the fear begins to set in. Duro and Tove are quick to react, inching forward until Tove can grab the little girl's hand. With a smile and a finger pressed to his lip, Tove begins to lead her back into the trees. 

Repeating the process, Nasir helps three more children down from the beast, deliberately guiding them as far as he can towards the other men. All of the children are cold to the touch, a hint of blue around their eyes and mouth, and reeking of sea salt and algae. They do not make a sound, but instead cling to Tove and Duro, tiny fingers digging into the royals. 

Agron is close enough that he can see the tension in Nasir's shoulders, smell the stale scent of old water and rot. The kelpie seems to be approaching the end of the sugar, it’s violet eyes half masted but the black ink has slowed its dripping from Nasir's arm, the stain of it lessening. As if sensing it too, Nasir slowly turns his head to look at Agron over his shoulder, eyes huge and mouth pressed in a thin line. He's terrified, unsure whether to try and pull away or wait, eyes wide and endless. 

_I’ve got you. On the count of three_ Agron instructs, inching forward with Spartacus. Nasir nods once, a slight twitch of his head. 

_One_

Nasir's bottom lip trembles, eyes unable to turn away from his husband. The kelpie could turn at any moment, the two of them stuck together, and flee into the water. It would not let Nasir go until the last breath has left him, curling its sticky skin around Nasir’s like a vice. 

_Two_

Agron can see Crixus approaching behind the beast, lip curled back over his teeth in a silent growl. They all keep time with one another, a step and then another, barely breathing in the still air. Stil,Agron’s full attention is drawn back to Nasir, who has started to shake - both in fear and from the cold.

_Three_

Spartacus' sword comes down on the exposed flank of the beast as Crixus' pierces the other. In front, Agron dashes forward, arms locking around Nasir's ribs and pulling. For a moment, the animal rears its head, tugging Nasir back and up with it, but Agron locks his arms, holding sure and fast. With a tremendous cry, the kelpie kicks against the pain, the sticky seal connecting its mouth to Nasir's hand snapping with a sickening suck. 

Bucking wildly, the beast nearly rams a hoof into Crixus' chest, barely missing as it flees. The moment is touches the lake's water it turns into foam, a loud hiss filling the quiet forest. Even with it gone, there is the sickening feeling of wrongness and ancient power here. The only indication there was a beast here is the glimmer of oil along the surface of the water.

"Nasir?" Agron asks, leading his husband back to the safety of the threes, refusing to set him back on the ground until the oaks hide them. 

"I'm okay," Nasir groans, leaning against the rough bark of a nearby tree, staring down at his hand. The ink has cut away at the flesh, burning and curling his palm into shredded strands of skin. Surprisingly, Nasir feels nothing, still high on adrenaline. 

"What the fuck was that?" Duro barks. He has a small boy on one hip, a little girl clinging to his back. 

"A kelpie," Spartacus wipes his hands on his cloak, looking unimpressed, "Water demon that pries on children. They seduce them onto their back and then drown them in the water.”  
"Fucking thank the gods we got here in time then," Tove mutters, cradling two children to his chest, their twin faces staring out at the group.

The words seem to bring out a new wave of terror. Turning, Agron quickly approach Nasir again, fingers curling around his shoulders. The force of the motion slams him back against the tree, Nasir huffing as the wood digs into his spine. Agron's green eyes glow bright and vicious in the dark light, looming over his smaller husband. He doesn't even realize his fingers have flexed, digging into the soft skin around Nasir's bone. 

"Why did you not tell me you were leaving? Why did you not wake me?" Agron snaps, voice sharp and loud in the quiet. 

"I don't know! I woke up and I was walking through forest. I don't remember how I got out here," Nasir tries to twist away, voice high and frantic. 

"I told you that these woods are dangerous! I warned you before we even left!" Agron's voice only grows louder, panic causing him to shake Nasir slightly. 

"I don't know how I got out here! I just did!" Nasir shouts back, trying and failing to push against Agron, "I didn't do it on purpose!"

"You could have died! You could have been lost and we would have never found you. Do you have any idea what would happen if some of the creatures out here found out who you are?" Agron narrows his eyes at Nasir, breath coming in foggy pants. 

"Agron, let go of him," Crixus interjects, stepping towards them. 

"Fucking hold tongue in affairs that don't affect you," Agron snarls, teeth snapping together audibly. 

"You're fucking hurting the boy," Crixus reaches out, only to receive a deep growl in response. 

"Put your hands on me and see yourself lose them." Agron's face scrunches tight, the wolf pacing closer and closer to the surface. Between his chest and the three, Nasir stares up at him in shock. 

"Agron." Nasir's tone is barely controlled, anger suddenly replaced by a wavering emotion. It snaps Agron's attention to him, eyes widening as the larger king slowly takes in the way Nasir's arms bulge around his grip, dented from his fingers. 

"You're hurting me."

With that one phrase, Agron releases him, recoiling as if Nasir had lashed out. Instantly the realization brings hot and acidic guilt to Agron's chest, the knowledge that he had put his hands on Nasir, had lost control in his desperation, sickens him. He steps back, eyes trained to the ground and face flushed with the shame. 

"We have only just started our journey, brothers," Spartacus speaks up, tone soothing, "I would not see us fall to madness."

He pointedly looks around the group, lingering on Crixus and Agron the longest. 

"Let us return to the encampment and see children returned to their parents and us to our beds. There is no point in shouting at one another or trying to find blame. We must be more cautious in the future.”

They all nod, silent and subdued as Spartacus turns, beginning to lead them back towards the camp. Duro and Tove go next, soothing the children There are only so many soft noises though that the princes can make to try and reassure them. Crixus moves behind the pair, angling himself so he can still see the kings that bring up the rear. Both Agron and Nasir are silent, neither looking at one another as they trudge forward, the space between them feeling huge and vacant. 

The beginning hues of morning are just beginning to pinken the sky when Agron finally moves back towards the center of camp. He's been filled with too much guilt, too hotheaded and frustrated to come back to bed. Instead, he had walked the length of the perimeter, snarling at any guards that dared approach him. How could they have not seen Nasir get up and follow a horse into the woods? Did they not notice the children going missing? How were they supposed to survive if they fucked up on watching the very first night that something major could have happened? 

When they had entered the camp, Agron had made sure that Nasir was safe and secured before stomping off, wrapped tightly in blankets and by the warm fire. Nasir hadn’t even bothered to acknowledge him, using Spartacus’ arm to ease himself back to the earth. Agron had just used it as more fuel to the fire, growling at Spartacus low and vicious, before turning away. He knows it's not his fault, not really even Crixus' fault, but Agron is just so _fucking angry_.

Now though, the rage has simmered down and Agron is left feeling miserable, cold, and alone. He makes his way back through the still sleeping peasants, stepping carefully around legs and arms. They all are lost to the world, snores and groans filling the air. It will not be long though before they wake, the sounds of fire, cooking, and laughter to fill the air. 

Finally, Agron finds the circle of royals, all laying around a dead fire pit. The air is frosty still, tiny gray clouds around each of their heads, bodies covered in thick, furred blankets. Agron manages to sprawl out on his side on the crunch grass, curling his body close enough that he can feel Nasir's soft breath on his face. 

_Are you awake?_ Agron murmurs, resisting the urge to nudge his nose against Nasir's. 

_Yes_ Nasir's eyes open slowly, shifting his hand against his cheek. Though he answers, his words are faint, magic not allowing him to respond to full volume.

 _I should not have raised voice the way I did to you._ Agron continues to stare, green eyes tracking slowly over Nasir's face _Seeing you with that creature though, knowing how close you were to death- After all we’ve been through and had to suffer, only to have you snatched away from me-_

 _I know._ Nasir reaches forward, pressing his palm to Agron’s rough cheek. _But even the gods would be foolish to take me away from you now. I could not let them take me._

 _I would climb up to the sky and kill anyone who stood between us._ Agron growls, brow wrinkling. Nasir eases his thumb over it, smoothing out the skin was a gentle swipe. _No god or beast or fucking man._

_And I would fight my way back to you._ Nasir smiles softly, a weary sort of melancholy tinging his words. He doesn’t seem upset, but almost exhaustedly sad. 

_I could not bear the thought of continuing in this world without you by my side._ Agron’s fingers ease over Nasir’s face, his cheeks, his smooth hair. _I won’t do it._

_And you will never have to. Our places are together, beside one another, for all of eternity._

Agron slides forward, closing the gap between them, eyelashes smudging dark on his cheeks. He eases into the kiss, lips gently surrounding Nasir's bottom one and pressing. It's natural, the way they meet and fall apart, having memorized each other down to their very cores. He cradles Nasir's head, fingers spread along where his curls give way to the warm skin of his neck. It turns warm between them, gasping breath as Nasir's tongue traces the soft cupid's bow of Agron's mouth, tasting him in tentative little licks. 

"I love you. I love you. I love you." Agron pants, easing his weight steadily against Nasir until he pushes him on his back. He hovers above him, muscles flexing as he leans down, Agron’s body a warm press to Nasir’s front. 

"Agron," Nasir murmurs, hands on Agron's chest, body wiggling to let the blankets open around them. It's still too cold, Nasir's skin pebbling in goosebumps as Agron's fingers slip under his clothes, yet he doesn’t consider the possibility of separating them. It’s too much and it’s too perfect and Nasir never wants to ever have them fight again. “I love you too.”

Agron doesn't have to put it into words, doesn't have to admit his fear or the panic over the idea of the kelpie snatching Nasir away. He knows that Nasir can taste it, can feel it in the desperate way Agron's hands grip him, hold him close as Agron breathes against Nasir's neck, pressing his teeth there to seal a mark. Nasir wiggles under him, fingers dragging through his hair, keeping Agron there. 

_I am so afraid._ Nasir whispers, brushing his cheek against Agron's. 

_Of what, my love? You are safe now._ Agron knows that Nasir is keeping him there to avoid looking at him, avoid admitting anything with his gaze. 

_Of us._ Nasir's voice cracks, nails digging into the back of Agorn's neck. _Of who we are becoming._

Managing to ease himself back, Agron presses his forehead to Nasir's, keeping the words soft and breathed across his mouth. He wants him to believe, to swallow down his words and retain them.

 _No matter what happens, we are in this together._ Agron reassures, the tip of his nose brushing Nasir's. 

"We are gods, Agron. I am the reincarnated version of a god. You just had the power bestowed upon you from the moon." Nasir's voice is wrecked, cracking and horse. "Our baby already is being sought after, called for as the most power being in the world. What if we-What if-"

"What if what?" Agron cups Nasir's cheeks, searching his eyes. 

"What if we are what people fear in the dark?" Nasir cannot avoid Agron, not this close. "What if we are monsters now? And our children will be the things that people tell their children to fear? It's all so much."

"My love," Agron sighs deeply, shaking his head. "I saw you earlier. You can barely make a flame. The child has taken nearly all of your power just to create it. So, how can you be a monster when all your magic has been working so fucking hard to create life? Not ruin it?"

"Agron-" Nasir cuts in.

"This baby only exists because its parents love each other," Agron's thumb brushes over Nasir's lips, "Our magic is only strong because your magic chose me and my magic found you worthy. How can we be monsters when everything that we are has been created from love?"

Nasir hiccups, wiping a stray tear from his cheek. "Are you sure? What if the baby hates us? What if-"

"The baby is not going to hate you. It is going to love you and adore you just as much as I do."

Agron presses a kiss to Nasir's temple, pulling him into a tight hug, efficiently ending the argument. He does not want Nasir to see his own fear, his own sick coiling horror of the idea that he may be like Gerulf. What if he is the type of father that Gerulf was? What if he's not any better and Nasir grows to hate him and the baby wants him gone? 

\- - -

 

Time passes slowly, marked by the graying of days and the chill that has turned to a frigid cold in the air. A steady sky of clouds and wind has taken up the weather, winter threatening closer with snow every day. The Alptraum march on, quietly making their way through the plains and back into the woods, their excitement melting away into the length of the journey. It will take them a little over a month to reach the castle, and yet each day feels as if it spans a year. 

Nasir spends the next few days after the incident with the kelpie migrating from the back of his horse to the cold ground and back. His hips ache, body sore in places he didn't even know he could get sore. Agron tries to help, rubs his back and eases his fingers along knots across Nasir's spine. He also finds every free blanket possible to lay across the frozen ground, creating a pallet that is far more padded than anyone else's. 

It doesn't help though. Nasir can't sleep, and if he does, it's dreamless - aided by potions and magic to keep the nightmares away. He's worn down, moving through a haze and bleary eyed, barely responding when talked to and staying close to Agron. All of his magic is now concentrated on the child. Nasir can barely make a flame in his palm anymore, instead, it's a constant flow to his stomach. 

He finds himself three days after the kelpie incident sitting solemn and alone. Spartacus and Agron had left earlier, promising to return after going to a council meeting with some of the elders. The Outland Nobles are set to join them along the way, and they must prepare. Nasir hadn't really acknowledged their departure except for tilting his head back, allowing Agron to kiss his mouth gently. There is a ream of forgotten fabric in his lap, the beginnings of a small play outfit half sewn but Nasir does not reach for it, doesn't even seem to realize his surroundings until Pietros is already upon him. 

"Nasir? What's wrong?" Pietros squats down, gently reaching out to cup Nasir's shoulder. 

"Hm? Oh. Hey." Nasir blinks slowly at him, a ghost of a smile pulling across his face. “I’m okay. Just tired.”

"You look awful," Pietros moves back and forth, taking in Nasir's dark circled eyes and chapped lips.

"I've missed you too." Nasir teases, the sharpness of the words diminished by his faint tone. 

"Nasir, I'm sorry I-" Pietros tries to say, dropping his head, but he's cut off by a soft scoffing noise, Nasir's smile ghosting but there. 

“As if I could stay mad at you,” Nasir reaches out, squeezing their fingers together. “You have already been forgiven.” Pietros’ thumb rubs dizzying circles slowly on the back of Nasir’s hand. “It is I, who owes you an apology.”

“An apology for what?” Pietros looks up, surprised. 

“I never asked you to stay here. I never asked you if you wanted this life or if you were happy. I just-” Nasir pauses for a moment, as if the words are choking him. When he looks up at Pietros, there is moisture gathering in the corners of his eyes. “I just selfishly thought that we would never be apart. I could not imagine a world where you weren’t beside me. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I dragged you into all of this.”

“Nasir, no!” Pietros gasps, leaning forward to wrap his arms around Nasir, hugging him tightly. They squeeze each other as they used to when they were small and the world seemed so simple then. Before bodies and magic mattered, before they knew their fates, Pietros and Nasir had been each other’s world - each other’s safe haven. 

“If you wanted to go back to the troupe I could not stop you,” Nasir whimpers into Pietros’ ear, breath hot, “My heart would break but if it made you happy-”

“Being here with you makes me happy,” Pietros pulls back, wiping the few stray tears from his face, “I chose to stay. I could have begged to leave with Kallistos and Mika and Jem. I wanted to stay with you.”

“You have never been my servant,” Nasir shakes his head, “You never will be. You are my brother, since birth.”

“I love you,” Pietros smiles gently, kissing Nasir’s forehead. 

“I love you too,” Nasir returns the soft press of his lips to Pietros’ brow.

“We must look pathetic,” Pietros laughs a little, “Whimpering on the ground like children.” 

“I’m sure everyone here thinks we’re nuts anyways,” Nasir rolls his eyes, falling into laughter a moment later when an old woman passes, side eying them. 

They share a few tear drunk giggles, wiping at their eyes and trying to contain themselves again. It has been so tense between them that now that it’s resolved, it’s an almost surreal relief. 

“Anyway,” Nasir sighs dramatically, shaking himself a little. “Let’s talk about something else shall we?”

“Like what?” Pietros laughs, the tension in his shoulders relaxing a little at the easy dismissal of anger. He had feared that Nasir would lash out, instead the king just smiles at them, the color slowly coming back to his cheeks. 

"Like the fact that I saw you riding Duro last night."

"Wh-What?"

Heat hits Pietros' face, melting slowly down neck. He had thought that no one had been awake, had thought that they were as private as they could get considering that half the Alpatrum court travels with them. Of course Pietros had known that Agron and Nasir had been sleeping a few feet away when he had climbed into Duro's lap, naked and hard. Agron’s face was buried in the back of Nasir’s neck, arms wrapped tight across his side, his large hands cupping Nasir’s stomach. Pietros had kept an eye on them when Duro had thrust in, nails digging into Duro's back and smothering his cries in a sharp bite to Duro's shoulder. Still, he must have lost his concentration somewhere along the time when Duro began to drill into him and the point where Pietros slipped Duro's fingers into his mouth.

“What is going on with you?” Nasir eases himself back on a pillow, supported against a large log. “You and Duro are fucking. Auctus has barely said anything without it directly being in response to an order. I haven’t seen Barca this whole trip. You say you want to go home. You wear your veil for three days and then take it off.”

“Nasir-“ Pietros groans, shaking his head. 

“I’m pregnant. Not blind.” Nasir rolls his eyes. “What happened?”

Pietros scratches at his curls, tugging at them a little. He isn't sure he even knows what to say, how to explain it all, if he even really knows himself. It had started suddenly really, made sense for them all the fall together, slick with sweat and desire. They had all wanted it – Auctus, Duro, Barca, and Pietros – and yet now it all seems to be broken. Pietros hadn’t fucked with Duro last night because he wanted to build on their relationship, he had felt lonely and needy and wanted Duro’s arms around him. 

“Barca has decided that it is futile to be together,” Pietros picks his words carefully, feeling a thick lodging in his throat. “He thinks Auctus and him stand unworthy of Duro and I.”

“Unworthy? But why?” Nasir’s face scrunches again, tilting his head slightly to the side.

“Duro is a prince, the rightful heir until the baby is born. I’m…well…Barca thinks that I am some noble now. He thinks you and Agron are waiting to bestow a title upon me until we reach the castle.” Pietros rubs at his nose, trying to stop the burning that crowds there. “Barca and Auctus are guards, part of the army. Barca thinks that they are lower than us and so he…” Pietros has to pause again, swallowing. “He disbanded us.”

“That fucking makes no sense,” Nasir rolls his eyes, the scorn thick in his voice. Pietros is surprised to find how much that expression reminds him of Agron. “As if one man holds more worth over another. Our kingdom is full of men and women who all have their own worth and their own importance. No one person is more powerful or more deserving than the rest. It is just the roles we are placed in.”

“He won’t see that though,” Pietros sighs, “Duro and Auctus are back together, I think, or at least Duro is trying to make that happen. Last night was-“ Pietros moves his hands around, trying to come up with the words. “Residual emotions? I just want to feel better, but Barca won’t even look at me. He’s holed himself up with Crixus and his men.”

“You don’t need to feel bad if sleeping with Duro makes you feel better, as long as you’re sure you made that choice. He didn’t pressure you or anything.” Nasir picks his words carefully, words halted as a group of guards pass. They’re Pontas from their green sashes, each of them bowing respectfully at the pair. 

“I initiated it. Duro and I had this sprung upon us. I didn’t even know what to say when it happened,” Pietros curls closer to Nasir, pressing his face against the pillow that the king is leaning on. “I thought when we had the choice to be with whomever we wanted, that it would be easier on us. I thought that it was what I wanted.”

“Oh Pietros,” Nasir’s fingers trail through his hair, a gentle there caress, “It is better, but men are fucking stupid sometimes.”

Pietros can’t help but laugh at that, tilting his head up to look at his best friend. 

“Let me talk to Barca, show him reason.” His face is back to being flushed, the close proximity of another magical being helping to restore him. There is something nearly supernatural about what happens when Pythonissans crowd together. They feed off one another, helping to heal and comfort even if there is no magic shared between them. 

“You don’t have to, really. He won’t even look at me. I passed by him and some of the others sitting around a fire earlier and Barca didn’t lift his head.” Pietros morosely rubs at his face again, wanting to wash the feeling from his skin. Nothing shakes this melancholy though. 

“Just because you did not see him looking does not mean he’s not looking.” Nasir plants his hands on the soft earth, trying to propel himself up. He struggles for a moment, allowing Pietros to gently guide him, hand pressed to his lower back. Standing, Nasir shrugs off his blankets, adjusting the thick pants around his waist and thinner vest – still intricately embroidered but without the gauze and organza from before. He is not the dancer right now, but a king and father.

“I’m going to talk to him. Give him a title or something. Make him realize that his pity party is doing nothing more than hurting him and you.” Nasir smooths his long hair back, face determined.

“Nasir, you really don’t have to. I’m sure I-“ Pietros flounders, hesitatingly shifting from foot to foot. 

“I’m your brother,” Nasir leans forward, using his hand on the back of Pietros neck to pull him down, kissing his cheek. He can no longer go up on his toes. “Of course I’ll do whatever I can to make you happy. And I’m the king and can give out whatever titles or claims as I see fit. You just have to promise me something.”

“Of course. Anything.” Pietros nods his vow. 

“Don’t put the veil back on.” Nasir strokes over Pietros’ jaw. “Let them see your magic. Let them all see our power. I’m tired of denying who we are, Pietros. We are Pythonissan. Let us finally be proud of that.”

\- - -

Leaning forward, Agron braces his hands on the table before him, hamstrings and thighs pulled taught as he stretches. He's never been that keen to ride horses, preferring to run or travel by foot. A king isn't allowed to appear so low, so physically tried though, as the elders keep reminding them. He's just managed to kick them out of the meeting tent, rolling his eyes as Solonius inquired about Nasir. Agron would be more keen to answer questions about his husband if they weren't asked with a gleam and a hidden agenda. 

"Old fucking creep," Duro mutters, the slick sound of metal over wet stone following his words. "When will we ever be free of him?"

"He is old," Mira mutters next to the prince, swinging her legs from her perch on top of the table. "Perhaps he will succumb in his sleep."

"One can only hope," Spartacus strokes her cheek with a grin before turning back to the king. "Agron, we are right on schedule. Other than a few missing children, a harpie attack, and the kelpie incident, we are doing well."

"We will be entering fae territory soon," Crixus speaks up from the corner, "They have not always been welcoming to our people."

"They are tricksters," Duro scoffs, glaring over at the man, "Nothing we haven't handled before."

"We haven't been traveling across their given territory with two magical beings, one of them carrying a child inside of him," Agron doesn't turn his head, but the tension in his shoulders is back, thick cording of muscles bunched together above his leather pants. He's been burning hot lately, even though the air is chilled, magic crackling sharply whenever he is away from Nasir. 

Almost as if on queue, the mentioned man suddenly passes through the crowd milling around outside of the tent. Nasir's face is pulled down in determination, a flash of a royal cloak before he cuts through a group of old women handing baskets of dried fruit back and forth. He looks grumpy, expression angry and pouty, wrapped tightly in a plethora of fabric. Marching forward, Nasir doesn't even have to shove really, the crowd parts and Nasir slips through, disappearing from sight. 

"Where do you suppose he is off to with that fierce expression?" Spartacus murmurs softly to the king, leaning in. It's more a friendship comment then one of Spartacus' high rank. 

"To raise hell," Agron responds, the ghost of an affectionate smile drawing across his face. 

"He grows fiercer every day, even without the wolf coursing through him." Spartacus' nudges his shoulder against Agron's. "I fear he will one day growl just as loud as you."

"He carries the wolf inside of him in the form of my heir," Agron rumbles, crossing his arms over his large chest. He is ever the proud father, legs apart and shoulders back. "There is no one more worthy. Nasir has always had a beast inside of him. It only needed to be coaxed out."

"You know," Duro speaks up then, cutting in. "I've always wondered, since the vampire assassination shit, exactly what he can do."

"What do you mean?" Mira glances between the prince and the king, measuring their staring contest. Agron does not appear amused.“You know what his powers can do. He creates things. He heals. All of his power is for the betterment of other people.”

Agron’s mind wanders for a moment about the flames and vines that curl around them when they fuck, the passion dripping in lines of gold and jewels across their skin. He gets lost in the memory of the water that has rained upon his skin, Nasir’s tongue tracing it off of his shoulders. The fire that burns with a wave of Nasir’s hand, the heat that pools in Agron’s stomach with a wave of Nasir’s body. Yes, he uses his magic to help others, but Agron knows that it is not its only purpose. He has tasted the electricity of it against his tongue, has watched the ground shake when Nasir urges it, calls out to the stars and moons for Agron.

"Nasir has all these powers, right? But they have their limits. We’ve only ever see him do shit that was for good except that one time," Duro shrugs, slipping his dagger back on his hip. "I want to see him at full force, no inhibitions. They can’t all be used for good. You don’t think that Nasir has never used his powers to do something bad? Tripped someone or stole? Maybe he caught some lover on fire once when he got too excited."

“Duro,” Mira chastises, wrinkling her nose as she looks over at Agron. The king’s expression is stormy at best.

"He's not a horse you can just open up across a field," Naevia moves around from her husband, eyebrows close together. Her words are clipped. "Every time Nasir uses his magic, it draws from him. The incident with the vampires wasn’t even in his control, and he was upset about it for days. You didn’t see him crying. Plus, he can barely do anything right now with the state of his pregnancy."

“He won’t always be pregnant though.” Duro shrugs. “It could be like a test or like practice.”

"Duro," Agron steps forward, a knowing look crossing his face. He can see the temptation in Duro's eyes, can see where the curiosity has melted into dangerous shades. "Don't instigate him. He’s seven months pregnant, _heavily pregnant_ with your niece or nephew"

"I'd wait until the baby was born!" Duro defends, standing up with arms raised. "I'm not fucking stupid. You can’t tell me you’re not curious."

“You’re right, we don’t know what he’s capable of, and I don’t think even Nasir wants to find out completely.” Agron motions with his hand, “Think of the damage it could inflict. Look what he did to the vampire.”

“He was fucking amazing with the vampires!” Duro cries, grinning wide. 

Agron just raises an eyebrow at him, the answer clearly written on his face. They all need to be nothing but supportive to the king, who struggles every day with his pregnancy. Agron has seen the barely hidden pain, the exhaustion, the nightmares that Nasir doesn’t remember but has. The screams that are bitten into Agron’s chest, the sobbing that fills Agron’s mind, pulls him awake and keeps him there. Nasir’s strength can only stand for so long.

“We don’t even know how he’s going to have the baby,” Duro mutters, petulant and whiney. “He’s a boy. He has boy parts. I’ve seen them-“

“Duro!” Agron barks, widening his eyes in warning. He isn't going to talk to a group full of people about his husband's body nor how their child is going to bring into this world. Especially considering that Agron isn’t sure himself.

"Sorry," Duro mutters, twisting his mouth in distaste. "I didn't realize that it was off the table considering how many men-"

"Duro! Watch fucking tongue." Spartacus speaks up then, stepping between the king and the prince. It's the tone of warning, expression grim and angry. "Remember who you are talking about and to. The people within this tent are your allies, but we are surrounded by many others who do not hold us all in favor. There are lords coming and it would do well for us to remember that."

"Who is coming?" Duro asks, head swinging from his brother to Spartacus. Beside him, Mira rolls her eyes, taking a deep breath. 

"Laeta," Mira sneers, tilting her head back as if in anguish. 

"Ugh! Why?" Duro groans, kicking at Mira's ankle when she groans even louder. 

"She is part of the royal court and the senior council woman on the history and traditions of the Alptra." Spartacus answers, pointedly ignoring his fiance's groan of displeasure. "She'll want to make sure everything is proceeding as planned and by law."

“More like she is coming to choke the fun away from all of us,” Mira mutters, “and try to force Naevia and I to be ‘respectable women of our age’.”

"Have you warned Nasir?" Naevia asks, stepping around the table to lean pull herself up by Mira on the table. "You know she's going to come after him."

"She will have her work cut out for her," Agron smirks, glancing over his shoulder at the women. "I doubt Nasir will be interested nor invested in being controlled by rules created by old men nor am I going to force him to do anything but rest."

"We shall see." Naevia agrees, the weight of the statement hanging stale and thick in the air.

 

\- - -

 

The next day finds world damp and gushing. A steady fog has rolled in from the west, the threat of rain hanging above them. It has caused the ground to be soggy enough that a tent can be staked, but the fabric is heavy with moisture, causing it to slouch. The sides are left open, a canopy to shield the occupants from the dripping leaves of the trees. Two large wooden chairs have been placed in the center, the backs carved with a swirl of snarling and growling wolves perched on top of one another. Agron sits to the left, Nasir to the right, both their expressions grim and unamused. 

"I thought you said that Lord Vernoff and his daughter were on their way and had almost reached our tent," Agron turns stony eyes towards Solonius who stands high councilman to greet the arriving lord and lady, Castus lingering nearby. “We have been waiting for nearly an hour.”

"The scout who recognized them spoke of their quick travel," Solonius grips his hands before his waist, bowing slightly. "Perhaps he was mistaken."

"Perhaps," Nasir drips sarcasm, adjusting the thick blanket across his lap. The damp air has put him in a foul mood, stuck between covering himself in blankets and then stripping them off, complaining about heat. "Or perhaps your men are just incompetent and we are to suffer for it."

"Apologies majesty," Solonius bows again, his disdain for the smaller king barely contained in his expression. "I know you must be uncomfortable, given your state. My deepest sympathies."

"Yes, my _state_ ," Nasir sneers again, fingers curling over the edge of the chair's arms. Beside him, Agron has to hide his smirk behind his hand. "The constant weight and pain of an heir resting upon me while I move from fucking horse back to frozen ground. I appreciate how much you can _sympathize_ with me."

“Can I fetch you anything?” Castus steps forward, looking for all intents and purposes as appearing helpful. 

Nasir waves his hand as if he is batting away a fly, rolling his eyes again. He has no interest in starting the thinly veiled innuendo game with Castus today. 

Solonius does not bother to reply, instead watches with squinted eyes as Agron reaches out, hand cupping over Nasir's wrist. The motion is gentle, a caress that seems to half soothe, half placate the smaller royal. Solonius does not let them see his sneer, thinking back to the words of Gerulf. How the king then had worried that his son was too taken with the small witch, how Nasir would bring about the downfall of their kingdom. Perhaps Agron does not realize it, but he has become weak. 

They are interrupted a moment later by the blaring of trumpets as two finely dressed guards enter into the tent. They're armor is intricate, a sash of silver with hawks printed on it looped over their shoulders. Agron nods his assent, appearing bored about the whole proceedings before the guards separate and another man steps between them. 

Standing tall with a thick green ribbon around his forehead, the man bows deeply before the royals, righting himself with a flourish of his hand. It’s a practiced move, one of someone familiar with theatrics. There is a gold ring through his nose, glinting in the candle light as he grins. He appears unfazed by the cold, shirtless except for a short leather vest that has been dyed red and embroidered with tiny hawks and wolves. Thick with corded muscles, the man's body seems to ripple down to the wide legged pants hanging low on his waist, the sash keeping them up with gold coins.

"Your majesties, I-" The man begins, arms spreading wide, but the words seem to slip from him, halted and awkward as he stares across the rugged floor to where the royals sit. His dark eyes widen slowly as they take in Nasir.

"Uddin?"

“It can not be. The jewel of all of Pythonissa, found here of all places.”

Beside him, Agron watches as Nasir slowly sits up straighter, jaw dropping in surprise. He seems to recognize the man, both of them tracking each other with their eyes before Nasir is slipping from his chair with a small gasp, blankets tossed to the floor. He crosses the rugged floor before Agron can even reply, throwing his arms around the other man and pulling him into a tight hug.

It takes every fiber of his control not to lurch across the gap and rip the two men apart, barely containing the growl that threatens acidic and sharp in his throat. Instead, Agron turns his attention to Spartacus who lingers to the side, Pietros and Naevia standing nearby. The three look just as confused as he feels, though Pietros' expression seems to be smoothing, as if he has been let in on the secret. 

"Nasir? My gods, I thought I would never see you again!" the man, who Agron assumes is named Uddin, pulls back slightly to cup Nasir's face, grinning down at him. Inside of Agron’s chest, something hot and sickening twists. "You are still as lovely as ever."

"You are still your charming self,” Nasir laughs, squeezing Uddin again, “I can’t believe it! It’s been years. You were lost for so long.”

“I did not mean to be, but the fates must have brought us together again,” Uddin coos down at Nasir, eyes wide, “How did you come to be here of all places?”

“My father thought it best to go through Alptra instead of Taurunt in the beginning of summer. He traded me for safe passage," Nasir explains, grin stretching across his face, “And you? I was sure you were sold to across the Pontas sea.”

Agron stands slowly, arms linked over his chest. He has to keep his teeth clamped together for fear of the growl building in his chest slipping out. Jealousy burns through him, vicious and angry. There is no denying that Uddin is attractive, but it is the way that he holds Nasir, touches him in a familiar way that turns Agron’s anger even more ferocious. 

“Kidnapped and sold a few times until I found my way here, the Lord Vernoff now owns me.” Uddin finally pulls back, holding Nasir by his shoulders instead, "The last time I saw you, you were dancing for that crowd of merchants in Bablioso. Do you remember?"

"Those pigs, and when we woke in the morning, you were missing," Nasir adds to the story, shaking his head, "Father wouldn't wait. I begged and begged."

"I remember," Uddin nods, "You were wearing those scarlet pants, the ones you used to love. Every time I saw that color I thought it was you. It used to haunt me, every time I would go to market or find myself out somewhere, I used to see your face slipping through the crowd."

Nasir smiles sadly up at him, reaching to pat Uddin's smooth cheek, shaking his head. It is difficult not to be bitter over something that happened so long ago, but Nasir tries. He does not want to think about his life before this one, remember the horrors when his whole joy sits upon the wooden chair behind him. No, Nasir would rather fill his mind with all the happy times Agron and him have spent together instead of his dark and miserable past. 

"I have thought of you so often,” Uddin moves to stroke Nasir’s cheek, surprised when he is gently pushed away. Nasir ducks his head, but not in apology, instead, he uses it as an opportunity to slip back, releasing himself from Uddin’s hold. “Only now to find that our fates are the same. You belong to a powerful man and so do I.”

“Uddin,” Nasir steps back, arm out reaching to the side and behind. He looks over his shoulder, eyes searching until they land on Agron, that familiar smile pulling across his cheeks. It’s shy, gentle, and purely reserved for Agron. “I am not what you think I am.”

Agron moves to him instantly, wrapping his arm around Nasir’s waist. He makes a point of dropping a kiss onto Nasir’s temple, pulling them together until no space separates them. It is a territorial and aggressive move, but Agron does not care. He is the king and the man pressed to his side is his consort, and no one can ever come between them. 

It takes a moment, Uddin examining both of them. He’s surprised he’s been so oblivious to what is standing right before him. The ring of gold around Nasir’s head is not just a trinket, a novelty, but part of the matching set – it’s companion sitting atop this other man’s. Uddin already knows who he is. He’s been described to Uddin over and over again, from the thick spikes of brownish blond hair to the tapered waist to the gleaming of his green eyes. What is unexpected is now that Nasir is standing before him, Uddin can clearly see the thick curve of Nasir’s waist.

“Uddin,” Nasir smiles adoringly up at his husband, fingers stroking over Agron’s hand on his stomach, “This is my husband, Agron – King of Alptra.”

“Your highness,” Uddin chokes out, bowing low again. He notices the way the king shifts, arm curling even closer around Nasir as he straightens, nodding his head. Uddin has been trained in the body language of powerful men, and there is something about Agron’s stance, the way his very presence commands energy - sharp and electric.

“I suspect that Vernoff sent you ahead of him to placate us as he takes his time reaching the encampment?” Agron rumbles, glancing down at Uddin, waving his hand to allow the other man to stand. He has no interest in keeping Nasir’s country men under heel.

“He is being held up due to the storm. He asked for forgiveness and offered my uh-“ Uddin glances down at Nasir, a blushing of color spreading across his cheeks. 

“Your services?” Nasir supplies, the subtle twisting of his mouth a clear sign that he understand the implication. 

Uddin nods, sheepishly glancing between both men. He does not know how to respond to Nasir’s distaste and Agron’s burning anger, noting how they don’t even seem to be breathing as they stare at one another. He can sense the tension between them, can taste the magic in the air. It’s sweet and coppery, like flowers drenched in blood, a mixture of spice and jasmine clinging to the back of his throat. He does not know what it means, only can sense that it is something powerful – there is something between them not yet known to this world. 

“That won’t be necessary,” Agron answers abruptly, turning his eyes away from his husband, “You can settle into your own tent until your lord arrives. My cousin Tove will see to your needs.”

As if the very mention of a name can create a man, one walks through the open side of the tent. He’s dripping water, blond hair pushed back messily from his forehead as if he’s been running his fingers through it. Uddin does not see the resemblance, caught off guard by the man’s faint, boyish grin and the way his ears stick out from the sides of his head. 

“Tove,” Nasir snarls, and Uddin fights not to recoil, shocked by the vicious tone followed quickly by a line in Alptraum that Uddin does not understand.

Instantly the man bows, expression drawn tight. It is as if he’s received a reprimanding and a flogging with just the sound of his name and the quick words after. 

“Go, rest.” Nasir nods towards Uddin, placating and gentle. “We will talk soon, old friend.”

Uddin can do nothing but nod, smiling briefly as he’s led away, only managing to catch a glance of the royal pair over his shoulder. Nasir is leaning into Agron, looping his arms around his husband’s neck. Behind them and through a small patch of trees, Uddin swears he seems a lone figure moving, a shock of dark hair against the green. 

\- - -

Pietros' palms are clammy, skin warm but slick and he can’t stop fidgeting with the hem of his pants. There is a thin line of embroidery coming loose, a strand of ebony swirls falling apart on the lilac silk. Pietros could fix it now, should go and get the sewing box, but he can't stop his fingers from shaking. Nowhere in all of his training has he been given instruction on what to do in this situation. Distantly, Pietros can feel his heart beating, a steady throb through his ribs.

Across the tent, Barca stands awkwardly swaying back and forth. He's dressed down, armor stripped from him, instead wearing short leather pants with a thick, metal belt. A dagger hangs from his hip, end curved slightly to the right. Barca's fingers rest on the hilt, migrating from the smooth metal to his own smooth hip and then back. 

"Nasir is pretty vicious," Barca states bluntly, eyes slowly roaming the room before landing on Pietros. 

"I told him he didn't need to say anything to you," Pietros mutters, wrapping the thread around and around his finger. It cuts into his skin, but he can't seem to stop. 

"He should have never had to," Barca moves closer, cautious steps until he reaches the edge of the blanket that Pietros is sitting on. With a slight wave of his hand, Pietros beckons him closer, Barca moving until he can kneel, settling close enough that his legs brush Pietros. “I’m an ass. I should have never said what I said to you.”

“Don’t,” Pietros sighs deeply, spine arched in one long line. He doesn’t want to hear Barca’s self-deprecating remarks, doesn’t want to do this. He just wants to go back, back to before all of this happened, back when Pietros didn’t know what it felt like to feel wanted and then rejected. 

“Please, let me talk. I should have never said what I said to you. It makes no sense for us not to try just because someone might happen, especially when I love you so much,” Barca reaches out, gently taking Pietros' hands away from his pants. "Can you forgive me? For being blind and too selfish to see that my way of protecting you was only hurting you?"

"Is that why you're here? Because you suddenly have seen the light?" Pietros scoffs, though it loses its heat when Barca cringes. 

"I'm not expecting everything to be suddenly fine," Barca sighs, "I just wanted a chance to explain."

"Barca," Pietros sighs, staring at their joint hands, "When we got here, I thought I would be nothing more than a hand servant to Nasir. I was prepared to do that. I wanted to do anything I could to help him, help my brother."

Barca nods, thumb circling over and over Pietros' knuckles. 

"But then you were here," Pietros recoils against the words, but can't seem to stop them. "It wasn't just about fucking around with Duro and Auctus. You talked to me, you saw me for who I am, not what I am. And then when all four of us were happy, when I was finally allowing myself to fall in love with all of you, you pushed me away."

"I didn't expect you either," Barca counters, reaching out to gently touch the curls along Pietros' temples. "I didn't but I don't want to lose you. You deserve more than I will ever be able to give you Pietros, but I can't stand the thought of not being with you. I want to prove it. Give me a second chance."

"Because of what Nasir said to you?" Pietros rolls his eyes, but he leans into the touch, letting Barca caress him. 

"No, because I was wrong," Barca sighs, shaking his head, "I miss you, Pietros. Auctus and Duro miss you."

Pietros stays silent for a moment, hands falling back to his pants. He lets it soak in, tries to bring back that anger, that pain that he felt before, but all he wants to do is to give in – let it all go. Why suffer even more? Hadn’t Nasir told him to allow himself these pleasures? To not punish himself for a past that he had no control over? Pietros is tired of lashing out and him ending up the only one that gets hurt.

Sighing deeply, Pietros wiggles around until he can get his knees under him, crawling forward and into Barca’s lap. He curls his fingers in Barca’s soft hair, pulling him close to kiss him. 

“Don’t ever do this again,” Pietros pants, fingers stroking down Barca’s spine, “I cannot handle you breaking my heart again.”

“I won’t. I swear it.” Barca holds him tight, arms a vice around Pietros’ waist. 

\- - -

 

Slowly, Agron opens his eyes. He can hear the soft pattering of rain, the grass around the tent canopy sopping wet and muddy. Outside of the small huddle of blankets he’s lying in, Agron can make out the dark shadows of guards standing watch, other tents haphazardly placed around the forest floor. Pressed to his front, naked skin still slick and bodies entangled, Nasir sighs deeply, turning over onto his side. He curls his fist up next to his cheek, huffing until a strand of his hair is blown away from his nose. Agron can make out the faint outline of goosebumps where the blanket has slipped from Nasir's smooth skin, the weight of it stretching him taut. Nasir is too far along to really give him what he begs for, instead Agron had tried last night to subdue him with deep, sucking kisses and his fingers buried inside of Nasir. It had been enough to quench the little king, though he had whined the whole time for Agron’s cock. Rolling against him, Agron nuzzles across his back, kissing wetly along the soft curve of Nasir's shoulder blade. 

"Agron?" Nasir murmurs, blearily tilting his head back to look up at his husband. "What's wrong? Is it time?"

"No," Agron's voice rumbles, laying his mouth gently to the ball of Nasir's shoulder. "Go back to sleep my love."

Arching his head back, Nasir presses his mouth blindly to the side of Agron’s jaw, nipping at it gently. “Stop thinking so loudly then. I could sense your troubled mind even from deep within my own dreams.”

“Apologies. It is just lasting thoughts of a king who needs to go make rounds,” Agron groans, detaching himself from Nasir’s warm arms and standing. It is dark enough that he struggles for a moment, looking around for clothing and locating his pants by the edge of the tent’s covering. He begins to pull them on, keeping an eye on Nasir as he hooks his elbows under himself, leaning up. 

“I fear that you are slowly becoming more married to that crown than me,” Nasir’s pout is half real, half play – sticking his bottom lip out for the full effect. “When we reach the castle, I may not even know you anymore. Just see glimpses of you at court and meals. A figment of my imagination.”

“You are always my first and only concern,” Agron rolls his eyes, easing the soft leather up over his hips.

“Are you speaking to me or that ring of metal around your head?”

Growling, Agron finishes tying the front of his pants before stooping down, cupping Nasir’s jaw tightly. The kiss is lingering, wet and hot, Nasir moaning with warm arms wrapping around Agron’s neck. He is almost successful at luring Agron back into the bed, the larger man only using his strength to push Nasir down flat, leaving a lingering press to Nasir’s neck. 

“When I am here, with you, _inside_ of you, I am no one but Agron,” Agron presses his forehead down to Nasir’s, “No one but your husband.”

They stare at each other for a moment, only the soft sound of the still falling rain and the panted breath between them. Agron suddenly aches, a deep twisting pain in his chest, for all the time that has been stolen from them. In a proper Alptraum engagement, he would have taken months to woo Nasir, proven he was worthy and loyal. They would have spent days talking, exploring the land of Alptra, and familiarizing themselves with each other. Agron could have shown Nasir the beauty of this place, the mystery and ancient lands that seem to be embedded in Agron’s own skin. Instead, the Pythonissa had been shown nothing but darkness, hate, and the monsters that loom with glowing eyes all around him. 

“Go and make your rounds, my king,” Nasir drags his teeth over his bottom lip, eyes tracking down to Agron’s mouth. “And then return to my bed.”

“I shall hurry.” 

Agron gives him one last kiss, one rough press of his mouth down on Nasir’s, enough to sate him until Agron’s return. Nasir lets him press against him, opens and unfolds, eager but gentle in his responses. It’s as if he can sense the twisting apprehension along Agron’s spine, the tightening vice that seems to be clenching in his chest. Agron allows himself one last look back, categorizing and filing away the memory of Nasir curled on his side, thick blankets of fur and kashmir wrapped around him, cocooning him against the weather – against the world. 

Turning, Agron ducks out into the rain and towards the nearest guard. He’s one of the Pontas shits, thick around the waist with a tankard of wine leaning against his foot. In his hand is a long spear, the edge curved over into a hook, the type one could hunt large fish with, the edge of it carved metal that hints at its sharpness. Reaching out, Agron fists a hand in the man’s tunic, using it to yank them together until Agron can spit the order into his face.

“No one is to disturb him. No one goes in. No one goes out.”

“Yes majesty,” the man’s voice is gravel, glassy eyes staring up at the king in solemnity. 

“If I come back and there is anything amiss, I will have my men peel the flesh from your body and feed it to my dogs while you watch.” 

He leaves with a glint of too sharp teeth and the soft gasp from the guard. 

It is not that Agron wants to be cruel to the guards or be some monstrous leader, but the idea of anything happening to Nasir weighs heavy on his mind. It is a cruel fear, the type that festers hot and then cold in the pit of his stomach. He cannot shake the image of Nasir with the kelpie, how he could have just been forever removed from this earth. And then what? What would that leave Agron to do? 

Agron will never tell Nasir, but with the melding of their magic, Agron has seen part of Nasir’s nightmares. It bleeds into his own mind, tightens his throat, a crushing weight through his lungs. He can recognize the large shadow that blankets over Nasir’s subconscious, the horror of finding that Gerulf’s ghost has followed him into his dreams. And it will always be Agron’s fault, Agron’s burden for choosing to leave Nasir behind, to separate them. He had thought that he was sparing Nasir, saving him in some way, but he was foolish to ever leave his side. 

Marching forward, Agron moves along the edges of the encampment, blindly checking guard positions and that tents are still standing. He isn't really focusing but his presence has cause for men to shudder, standing taller against the falling rain. 

Agron has to distantly wonder if this is the type of power that Gerulf found himself hooked on. Was it madness or just a man drunk on his position? Agron does not want to be like his father. He has feared the very thought of it for so long. No one really knows that full force of what Gerulf could do, no one but Agron. No one saw hands turn to fury, fists and screaming rage. Agron bears the scars of a father displeased with his offspring. He only carried the weight of his punishment, Duro's punishment, and after Isolde was gone, Agron took her punishment too. It was not only his fists that he used, but other things, slick with Agron’s blood and the threat of more.

Now the weight of the memories hangs deadly and sickening over Agron's head. How can he possibly hope to be a good father when he has no example of one? Will Agron too fall prey to expecting too much, requiring his son or daughter to be more than they are? Agron knows that already the babe is in danger. The whole world wants it to be on their side, to be their champion, their gladiator against the darkness. Agron is going to have to be the one to teach it what its powers can do, how to control its fear and anger and learn to harness it for better. But there is such a thin line there and Agron is terrified at the idea of failing. 

Nasir does not seem to worry. Nasir, who sits sewing little moons and stars all over blankets and cloaks, who wove together tiny outfits and whispered prayers and blessings into the cloth in Pythonissan. He even has the notion and security of thinking that Apep will sleep with the baby, guarding it against any attack that Nasir or Agron cannot defend. 

He does not want to be bitter or angry towards his husband. Agron knows that he would have nothing if it were not for Nasir's strength, his devotion to helping Agron to become king, to being the supportive, neutral voice in the shit storm that is Alptraum politics. Still, it is as if Nasir has always known his role. He has been born for it. And here, Agron stands, afraid and under prepared. Would that turn their love bitter over time? Is Agron going to ruin that as well? Turn love into poison because his hands have never known kindness?

Stepping through the rising mud, Agron is nearly halfway around the Alptraum group when a sound catches on the wind, brief but roaring in his supernatural hearing. It is the sound of a child crying, not a baby but a child, hiccupping sobs and a high pitched voice. Something twists inside of Agron, a need to find and protect, a desire to hold the child in his arms and sooth it. 

Whipping around, Agron scans the trees, trying to find the source of it. It could be the wind playing tricks on him, but he swears that the source is coming from the woods, yet the darkness of the night does not reveal anything. He staggers forward, dipping out from the the protective circle of the torches and into the darker realms of the forest. And there, to the right, a flash of bluish silver. 

Turning, Agron makes his way towards it, using the sound of the continued crying to guide him. It feels as if he's walking through thick sand, feet digging into the muck and wet ground around him. How did he come to be here? Why is he not home with Nasir, curled up in their room? He cannot stop though, cannot rest until he finds and aids the child. The walking seems to take ages, time turning to syrup, and yet before he can really grasp how long he has been moving, he's stumbled into an open clearing. 

It is still dark here, still black from the lack of moon or stars, but Agron can see it. Standing by a fallen tree stretching across the soft grass, the child is wrapped in a long cloak of silver and blue. It’s small, would only stand to Agron’s hip if the child was near him, shoulders thin and willowing. The hood is pulled up over its face, hiding any clear features, but Agron can see that it is young - must be for how small and miserable it looks. 

The child raises its tan arms out of the covering, pressing its little hands to its face as it chokes out another sob. Agron can just make out the glimmer of thin dress under the cloak, red and soft, with a small belt of gold around its thin waist and an embroidered hem. The breeze rips through the clearing again, dislodging a long strand of ink black hair from under the hood, the curl of it sticking to the child's fingertips. 

Trying to concentrate, Agron has no idea how this child could have gotten out here. This familiar child. Agron knows this one. He _knows_ his own daughter. Of course he does. Agron's mind throbs, head aching miserably as the smell of burning fills his nose. It is not the familiar scent of fire, of heat, that Nasir’s magic gives him, but something else. Agron must shrug it off though, ignore it as his daughter gives another shudder, hiccups coming faster now that Agron is near. 

"Daddy!"

The little girl's face is still hidden even as she lowers her hands, body slipping under the protection of the cloak again. It seems that infinite black has concealed her face, a sinking black hole that hides the world away from him. But Agron knows he’s own child’s face. He can remember, if only he could concentrate past the pounding within his skull. 

"Daddy, why won't you save me?"

Pain squeezes through Agron's chest, suffocating pressure on his lungs that cuts his breath short and labored. He tries to reach for the child, get to her, but his feet seem to be frozen to the ground, arms encased beside him. 

"I am here. I am not leaving you."

"Daddy! Daddy help me!"

“I’m trying!” Agron struggles, feeling his muscles strain against the invisible hold that seems to bind him to the same spot. 

“I’m hurting, Daddy. _You’re hurting me._ ”

Turning on her heel, the child begins to make its way out of the clearing and into the forest proper. It only after her silver cloak has disappeared from sight that Agron finds he can move. He takes off after her, surging through the trees and underbrush, shoving branches and leaves from his face. His lungs strain, muscles feeling like cords that are about to snap. The forest cuts at his chest, slicing over his shoulders and back, latching over his arms. He can never seem to get a clear sight of her, only catches the reflection of her out of the corner of his eye. Her voice is ever present though, the hiccuped sobs and crying pleas.

"Daddy! Stop! Please, it hurts."

Agron's feet pound against the ground, the same throbbing filling his head, suffocating him. He can hear the little girl's voice _inside_ of him. It's like a mantra, ingrained in the back of his skull, coursing through his blood. 

Sweat stings in his eyes, rain slicking the blood from the wounds across his body. The leather pants, once soft from wear and beating, begin to stick against his thighs, constricting and painful. Still, the child races on and Agron follows, unable to do anything but pursue it. 

"Daddy please!"

It's as if he's hearing something from far away and yet inside of him. A memory of sounds and words. Why does it feel so familiar? Agron can't think, can't focus. It's a suffocating sound, overwhelming grip around his throat. Had he not said those same words to someone? Why does his daughter's voice change that way?

The child's voice cracks, a deeper tone filling it, and the world tilts. Agron can see the image as if it's right before him, blanketing out the whole forest even though he can still feel himself moving. 

A little boy is sitting by the fire, playing with a few carved wooden animals. Behind him, a man enters. He's shouting and the little boy is trying to scurry away. There is a baby crying somewhere and the little boy knows he cannot let the big man get to the baby. _Agron knows he can't let Gerulf get to Duro._ Then the pain, the hands around Agron's neck, lifting him from the ground. He's screaming out, begging, but Gerulf's breath smells like wine and his face is Agron's. Agron and Gerulf are one, one man, one _monster_. 

The forest swells over the image, trees bursting through the memory's tent walls. Agron is back in the rain, chasing after a child that is no longer there. The silver of its cloak lingers in the air, but Agron is going too fast to realize that it is no longer hovering over the ground anymore. He steps forward, breath knocked out of him, as his feet leave the earth - the cliff behind him. 

\- - - 

Crixus can think of many other things that he would rather be doing than standing guard over a small patch of sleeping peasants. In fact, Crixus is pretty sure he would be more challenged guarding a pack of dogs then worrying about whether Old Lady Maise has stopped breathing or not. 

Back when Gerulf was king and had contests, Crixus was the best warrior in the land. It was only when Spartacus started competing that there was any threat to his title. Even Agron, with his growling and gnashing of teeth, could fall under Crixus' swords. A battle of fists were a different story, as Agron is crafty with his body and knows the tells of other men. 

Now, Crixus stands no more than a shepherd, over looking a restless king's flock. Crixus knows that Agron and him will never be truly friends, brothers by battle and blood, but never companions. There is too much history there, regardless of the feelings Naevia and Nasir share for one another. 

He is surprised to find the aforementioned man running through his gaze a moment later, as if speaking of the beast will make him appear. Agron looks the part of a beast, covered in blood and leaves. He is not jogging or walking quickly, but actively running in a way a desperate man would, voice crying out over and over. 

Moving away from the outskirts of the encampment, Crixus jogs towards the king, shifting slightly to hear better above the rain. It makes no sense, Agron's words, calling out to a child that is not there. In fact, through the thick onslaught of water, Crixus can just barely make out the creature that the king is following. 

It's a light gray, skin a sickly color, the type that occurs when a beast has lived its whole life in the shadows, underground. It appears as if a tall, thin man has crouched down, it's calves attached to the back of its thighs. Appearing as if crouching, its knees are then brought to its chest, long arms hanging down to drag through the underbrush. The creature lacks any hair, instead it is made up of one large, gaping mouth that takes up nearly all of it's face, tiny sharp teeth swirled around and around in a spiral. Just above the fold where face gives into mouth, two tiny black eyes peer out. 

"Agron!" Crixus calls out, a retort on his tongue, when he spots it. 

The forest quickly plateaus as one end, the sharp line of earth giving away to the night sky. It levels out below, a large ditch forced into creation by what looks like years of digging and rain. With his perspective, Crixus can see the sharp wooden stakes that have been driven into the earth at the bottom, pointed upwards. 

"Agron! Stop!" Crixus begins to run towards the king along the cliff edge. 

He isn't going to make it. There isn't enough fucking time and Agron is moving too quickly. The ground is too soft, he can't reach him. Crixus watches as the creature flies off the edge, hovering in the air with a terrible scream. Behind him, Agron bursts through the tree line, face smoothing out in shock, before he too is past the earth. He does not hover in the air as the monster does, but instead plummets. 

With a mighty roar, Crixus allows himself to fully shift, jumping forward with a shove of his powerful back legs. The weight of the bear adds to the rapid descent, allowing him to slam into Agron's side mid-fall. The two Alptraum jerk sideways, spiraling, before suddenly the ground rises up to meet them with a terrible crash.

A scream echos out through the cavern, ricocheting off the trees, and shattering through the rain. It is not the scream of shock or horror, but of the worst sort of pain. Rolling onto his side, Crixus gazes across the muddy ground at where Agron lays. It doesn't make sense at first, before the whiff of blood slams into Crixus' senses. Agron has fallen on a long, wooden stake, the tip of it coated in blood. The base rests in the middle of his left thigh, the muscles spasming as Agron stares down at it, hands fluttering around as if he's not sure what to do. 

"Agron, stay calm." Crixus speaks slowly as he shifts back, slowly crawling over to where the king is sprawled. 

"Fuck!" Agron screams again, wrapping his hands around the pole. It will not budge, nor is his angle even correct to try. 

"I'm sure someone-" Crixus looks around, not disappointed as suddenly lanterns flood the edges of cavern, voices shouting. 

"Where is my daughter?" Agron moans, the shock beginning to paralyze him. "Did she fall too?"

"What?" Leaning down, Crixus grips Agron's hand in his own, his other slipping back to support the king's head. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see that the lanterns are beginning to descend the edges of the cavern. 

"The princess," Agron gasps, trembling now as the waves of nausea and pain overwhelm him. "Where is my daughter?"

Crixus does not get a chance to respond as suddenly the guards and Spartacus are upon them. 

\- - - 

Hour was late when Uddin finally found slumber, mind still reeling from the shock of finding his old friend here of all places. Nasir is still as beautiful as Uddin remembers, even thick with child he looks perfect. Uddin had been young, seventeen, the last time he'd seen Nasir, who then was barely fifteen. Uddin had been foolish to think that his affections could ever be returned, that Nasir would ever love someone like him, but when he was young and clueless, Uddin had dreamed of being Nasir's husband. 

It seems as if something out of a dream then that Uddin wakes to Nasir crying his name, looming over him and dripping water everywhere.  
"Uddin! Please, wake up." 

It takes the Pythonissa a moment to realize that it is not rain that is falling on his cheeks but in fact the king's own tears. Nasir is also covered in blood, the crimson stained to his pale shirt, a smear up over his neck and onto his cheek. 

"Nasir? What is it?" 

Sitting up, Uddin grips Nasir's forearms, keeping the other man steady as it seems as if Nasir is about to fall. He shakes uncontrollably, trying to force words past his sobs, a desperate gasp between cries. 

"Please. You must come. There has been. Agron. Please. Fuck, please."

"I'll come. Nasir, it's okay. Take me where you need me to go."

He does not bother redressing, instead pads across the wet ground barefoot and in his thin, white sleeping pants. Uddin does not even get a chance to appreciate that Nasir is wearing much the same, body so different now, before he is being led into a tent, the thick scent of herbs filling his nostrils. 

Laid on his back on a cot, Agron writhes against the hands on him, shouting words in Alptraum that Uddin does not understand. Only word stands out over and over again - Nasir. Agron screams for him, eyes squeezed shut so tightly it appears as if they will bruise. They've stripped him down to a thin cloth around his waist, the gaping hole in his thigh gushing blood, staining the hands of the old woman who is hovering over him and Pietros, who looks lost between Nasir and a taller, darker man. 

"Help Pietros." Nasir gasps, shoving Uddin forward. 

Glancing between the two, Uddin turns back to Nasir, mouth gaping. He cannot be serious.

"Nasir, you know my power isn't in healing. I am air. I am storms. I could barely close a scratch. I can’t do this!"

"You must try! I can't-" Nasir's hands move over his stomach, desperate and pleading. "Please. I can't. I can't do it. I'm-"

Nasir falls back against another man's chest, strong fingers curling over his shoulders and holding him as he aims to sooth Nasir through the panic attack. Uddin does not recognize this one, this sandy blond man that touches Nasir as if he is his father, not his friend. Still, Nasir collapses against him, turning to press his cheek to the man's chest. He must say something, because the next moment, Nasir is kneeling beside Agron’s shoulders, resting his forehead against Agron’s temple.

Kneeling down on the soft blanket, Uddin reaches out to take Pietros' hand, resting his other one right below Agron's knee. He does not know this man. He does not know if he is kind, gentle to Nasir, who deserves nothing but happiness. He does not know what type of monster he's been trained to be, if the rumors of his father are true. All Uddin knows is the desperate way Nasir's eyes won't leave him, the panic and horror twisting his lovely face into a mask of pain. 

“I am here, my love. I am here.” Nasir gasps, petting desperate fingers over Agron’s sweat drenched face, “Agron, please.”

Closing his eyes, Uddin tries to awaken magic that he has not used in a long time, a lost skill almost. He can feel Pietros' coursing through him, the connection strong, the memories of the three of them - Uddin, Pietros, and Nasir - helping to fuel it forward. With a sharp crack, it seems the walls that once held it back have broken free and it startles out of his fingertips, a warm glowing light. He pushes it forward, encouraged by Nasir’s sobs. 

“Please don’t leave me.”

 

\- - - 

 

The sun is hidden behind gray clouds, the light hiding from the ground. It makes the whole world seem as if it is mourning, as if nothing will ever be happy again. Not even the glow of the fire before the tent can bring light into this place. It is where darkness festers and bleeds into even deeper shadows. 

Nasir has never felt so raw. 

He is sitting before the fire, the medic's tent behind him, door open incase there should be a noise inside. Everyone else has retreated to their own tents, their own morning meals, their own husbands and wives and lovers and children, but there is no where else for Nasir to go. He sits as guard, as useless companion to a king whose life Nasir could not save. 

"Nasir?" 

Naevia's soft footsteps disturb the silence of the morning, coming to perch beside him on the thick rug. She does not say anything, just sits there, legs curled under her and hands in her lap. It seems that the stillness could swallow them whole, as if someone had frozen time and they are to remain here, _hurting_ , until time decides to move forward. 

"Agron is going to live," Nasir whispers, voice turned to nothing but grit. He does not lift his swollen eyes to her, but stares straight forward as the fire pops and crackles. 

"He is strong," Naevia murmurs back, picking at a random fraying string on her armor. She does not go into detail of what Melitta and Crixus told her, of the way Agron’s skin had refused the magic at first, how he had howled and thrashed, screaming for Nasir and for death.

"He is," Nasir nods, ducking his head as the burn of tears graces across his nose again. He does not think he will ever be done crying. 

"Nasir-" Naevia placates, turning to him, only to be cut off by Nasir's sob. 

"I could not save him. When he needed me, when he called out for me, I was useless. I could not even speak to his mind, could not even close his wound. I just stood there."

Scooting over, Naevia wraps her arms around Nasir, cradling him against her chest. She lets him cry, lets him sob and sniffle into the overlapping straps of her armor, clinging to her arms, her back. Anyone else and Naevia would scoff at their pain, at their weakness, but there is something so broken about the way Nasir cries, about the whimpers that he chokes out. 

"You are only one man, Nasir," Naeiva pets along his ratty and tangled hair, brushing it back from his cheeks, "You cannot carry the weight of the world upon you."

"If he had died-" Nasir chokes out, pressing his forehead to Naevia's collarbones, "If he had died and I had lived, how could I ever look at this baby? How could I raise it knowing it would the reason that I could not save its father? That I have killed men so it could survive but I could not save the one man that deserved more than anyone else to live."

"You must not think that way!" Naevia draws him back, holds him firmly by his shoulders. "Nasir! You cannot trade Agron's life for your baby's or vice versa."

"I don’t want to do this anymore," Nasir groans miserably, shaking his head, "I cannot. I'm not strong enough. I don't know what I'm doing. I can't do this alone. I'm all alone."

"Oh Nasir," Naevia sighs deeply, brushing his hair from his sticky cheeks. "You are not alone in this. You have never been alone. Pietros and I and Mira and Spartacus and Duro and so many others stand beside you. Agron stands beside you. You cannot fail with so many people on your side."

"What if I am not strong enough? What if I'm not ready to be a father? A king?" Nasir wipes at his nose, "What if I let you all down?"

"Your fear won't let you. You are strong and have overcome so much already," Naevia smiles reassuringly, kissing Nasir's forehead. 

“I’m so tired, Naevia,” Nasir whimpers, “I’m so fucking tired.”

Naevia studies the king for a moment, his tear bruised face and puffy mouth, the signs of fatigue and pain etched into his body. He has never looked more his age than right now, nineteen and lost in a world that has shown him no kindness so far. 

“Your struggle is almost over,” Naevia sooths, petting Nasir’s hair, “There will come an end to all this pain. You cannot see it yet, but when you hold your baby, when you look into its eyes and it's tiny fingers curl around yours, you will know why you suffered for so long. You will laugh away the torture for the joy that this little life will bring you.”

Their hugging is interrupted a moment later by a sound behind them, the tent flap opening a little more as Agron staggers out. He is still pale, purple bruising around his electric green eyes, but he is whole, thigh completely healed over with no scar. He blinks up at the bright sun, fingers idly scratching at his stomach, before Agron moves towards them with a slow gait. 

"We will heal together," Agron croaks, a ghost of a smile slipping across his face, "And learn to be worthy kings and even better fathers than we were given."

“You are an even better king right now than your father ever was,” Nasir croaks, reaching his fingers out to gently brush along Agron’s healed skin. It’s a phantom touch, unsure yet if he can touch Agron.

“Hopefully I will continue the tradition and be an even better father.”

He slumps down, wrapping one long arm around Nasir's waist, pulling him against his side. He won’t let them go back to fearing touching one another, comforting one another. Agron nuzzles into Nasir's hair, kissing his ear as Nasir curls around him, holding him as close as possible. When they share the same breath like this, it feels as if the whole world has shrunk down to just the two of them - intimate and limitless. Agron can taste the tears on Nasir’s lips, the linger of blood on his own, but yet neither recoil. 

A moment later, another body slumps down besides Naevia, a lopsided grin and the flash of a nose ring. He’s followed closely by another body - Tove sprawling on another blanket, sighing deeply.

"What's going on here? The king finally has risen?" Duro asks, wrapping a friendly arm around Naevia's shoulders. She tolerates it with a withering look towards the prince. 

"They are discussing what types of fathers they are going to be," Naevia answers, clearing her throat pointedly when the royals begin to slip into the wet sounds of kissing. Nasir pulls back after the noise, grinning when Agron follows him, teeth implanted in Nasir’s bottom lip. There will be time for it later.

"Oh," Duro reaches out with his foot, lightly kicking Agron's shin, "Look on the bright side, brother. You can't be any worse than Gerulf."

Nasir does manage to produce a little flame, just enough to singe the edge of Duro's cloak.

\- - - 

Time, like the Alptraum, marches on. The sky is permanently gray now, heavy clouds full of snow towards the north. Spartacus had warned on leaving too late and meeting the snows, and it is clear that the threat is real and very near. The Alptra nation continues on though, past the other occupants of the country. They are not shifters as the true Alptraum are, but creatures that were allowed to stay when the land was won. 

They lose three women to the wooden creatures that live along the trees, dark red eyes gleaming as they swallowed them up in their bark. A man was swallowed into the earth by a hole that at once appeared to be made of dirt but under closer examination, was actually the gaping hole of a creature's mouth. Fairies rummaged the camp one night, turning all the wine to vinegar and twisting Nasir's hair into such a tight knot that Agron feared they would have to cut it until Volva produced soap that managed to sleek it back down. 

Lord Venorff arrived with Laeta in a cloud of red hair and fabric. He's the same as all Alptraum men it seems, according to Nasir, tall and loud with a thick beard and beady eyes. He looms thick like Dietrich, laughing merrily with the prince and chatting in quick Alptraum. There are always a plethora of servants and maids surrounding the Lord who will not sit on the ground like the rest of them but on a chair with a footstool, a large dog perched at his feet. There is always young, pretty boys around him, most there to smooth back his cloak or pull brambles from his hair. It is clear that Uddin stands his favorite though, often pulling the Pythonissan close, a hand gripping his ass. Nasir has had to turn away more than once in disgust, excusing himself before he speaks out of turn, chest constricting.

He does not blame Uddin. How can he, when he nearly shared the same fate? Agron could act the same if he so chose to, manhandle Nasir around, force him into servitude, to bend and sit and lay where he commanded. It is not fair the way that life leads each man forward, but it is fate's cruel command that makes it so. 

Nasir cannot imagine it, does not think Agron has it in him to be so _cruel_ towards him. 

They find themselves resting in a large patch of grass one evening, the mountains looming finally in short distance. Nasir swears that Alptra is only made of trees, grass, and rock. There is nothing else here. He has seen nothing else for days. It weighs heavy on mind that he may never see anything but this country. There will be no summers along the ocean shore, no winters crossing into the desert lands of the snakes to the south west, no more running along the rolling hills of the trolls. 

As if sensing his mood, Agron gently pulls Nasir out from around the campfire, saving him from listening to Saxa and Dietrich recounting in vivid detail what hunting in the north is like. They walk quietly through the encampment, bowing politely to the peasants that greet them, slipping away just as easily. It is not until they enter the woods that Nasir even realizes that Tove and Duro have been following them this whole time. 

"A royal escort?" Nasir teases lightly, squeezing his fingers through Agron's. 

"Now that Laeta is here, it is not possible for us to just slip away anymore. She requires us to have one guard, at least, at all times." Agron sighs, rolling his eyes, "I'm still trying to figure out who I'm going to pick to sit in the room while we sleep."

"That's only if you invite me to your bed," Nasir replies, shaking back his hair from his shoulders. "You know, she told me that I have to be specially requested in order to enter your chambers. You have to send a page boy every time you expect me to come and, and I quote, “do my consort duties.” As if she thinks we are going to live across the castle from one another, sending Pietros and Tove when we want to see one another."

"If she had it her way, you would be. Though, she would be more keen to make sure Agron's chambers are secure." Tove speaks up, nodding respectfully when Agron gives him a look. 

"What does he mean?" Nasir looks between the two men, sensing there is more to this story than he originally thought.

“Nothing,” Agron shakes his head, huffing a moment later when Tove interrupts him again. 

“It’s not nothing. We all liked her before you broke her heart and she turned into that rule abiding killjoy. All she ever does anymore is stick her nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“Only because she wanted Agron to stick his-“ Duro cuts himself off, breaking into giggles.

Sighing heavily, Agron drops his head and closes his eyes, the annoyance clear on his face. He takes a moment before beginning on an exhale, knowing Nasir isn’t going to let this go now. 

"When we were younger, I was maybe sixteen? Seventeen? Laeta came to stay with us over the summer months." Agron squints over at Nasir. "Rules were lax and Gerulf was still on his mission to find me a wife. Spartacus and I returned one day from a hunting trip and I found Laeta waiting for me in my room."

"You tell it poorly," Tove cuts in, already laughing. "Everyone knew Agron was not womanly inclined. I mean, Gerulf had tried to betroth him to both Mira and Naevia at one point, and neither of them worked out."

"He wanted to secure the line," Agron grumbles, rolling his eyes. He pauses to guide Nasir over a fallen log, kissing the back of his hand when they reach the other side. 

"Laeta set her sights high. At first, she tried for Spartacus, but Mira nearly shot an arrow through her neck. Though there is some blurring on whether or not that was over Spartacus or over Laeta trying to tell Mira she’d never become a proper lady if she insisted on being a warrior too. Crixus was out because him and Naevia got married around that time, and also have been married since they were like five," Duro buts in, "So, it was either Agron or me. She apparently missed the line of boys that were coming in and out of Agron's tent every night."

"Line?" Nasir raises his eyebrows at his husband, lips pressed thinly together. 

"Do not give me that look," Agron shakes his head, "I was a prince whose cock had barely learned what it could be used for! I'm sure no one during that time thinks highly back on our time together."

Nasir shifts his gaze to Duro, flushing when Agron catches him, raising his own brow. He is sure that Duro still looks back on the times fondly, though Nasir would never be so bold as to bring it up to Agron. He doesn’t want to know. Turning back towards where they are going, Nasir continues forward. 

"So Laeta did what?"

"Agron came in to find Laeta not only waiting for him, but naked in his bed." Tove can barely contain his glee. 

"Completely naked." Duro confirms a moment later. 

"And I told her to leave and that was the end of it." Agron finishes the story quickly, cheeks a little red. 

"Except that it's not," Duro scoffs, stepping forward to bump his shoulder with Nasir's. "The next night, she thought if Agron didn't want her that she would try me out. Problem was, she was laying in my bed when Agron and I came in."

"And?" Nasir looks between the brothers - Agron's stony expression and Duro's merry one. 

"We were heading towards where she was laying," Duro annunciates the words, keeping his tone low enough that Tove can't hear. 

"Oh."

Nasir quickly averts his attention to the ground before him, the loose dirt crowded with stones and leaves. He does not know yet what to say when this topic comes, staggering over it as if a loose stone in their path. He does not expect Agron's hand to tighten in his own, leaning close to hiss at Duro over the top of Nasir's head. 

"That is not the fucking point of this trip," Agron spits viciously, "Fall back."

Duro sticks his tongue out at Agron, slowing down to walk with Tove again. They end up slowing even more, giving more space between the royal couples and themselves, discussion straying to the what they hope they will be able to do at the castle. 

"Fuck, apologies Nasir, this was not the reason for leading you out here," Agron sighs deeply, moving his arm to wrap around Nasir's shoulders, kissing the top of his head. 

"What is the point then?" Peeking up at him through his eyelashes, Nasir resists the urge to poke Agron's cheek until a dimple appears. 

"Naevia told me what today is," Agron strokes his fingertips down Nasir's cheek, slowing them to a standstill, "Why did you not tell me it was your birthday?"

"My people, the Pythonissan people, we do not celebrate such things," Nasir shrugs, fiddling with the strings on the front of Agron's shirt. "There is no point, when so many of us are lost or stolen along the way, or sold. We only use it as a marking of time when auctioning ourselves off at the end of a performance."

Agron grits his teeth and swallows down the rage at the idea of Nasir standing upon wooden slab, watching silent as Kallistos read off his information. He rolls the idea in his mouth, a flash of too long teeth at the thought of men’s hands reaching out, touching Nasir, feeling him, prodding until they emptied their coin purses to see what they could not reach. 

“So I am now twenty winters instead of nineteen,” Nasir shrugs up at Agron again, drawing his attention back, “What does it matter? Surely your day is coming as well?”

Swallowing, Agron thinks of turning twenty-eight soon, a weathered man against Nasir’s soft cheeks – his youth. He banishes the thoughts, cupping Nasir’s face instead, kissing him gently. 

“It is our custom to celebrate a life on the anniversary of their birth,” Agron smiles, bumping his nose against Nasir’s, “but since I only found out this morning, I did not think you would appreciate everyone crowding around you and trying to plan a celebration.”

Nasir shakes his head, rubbing up and down over Agron’s chest. 

“So, I thought I would give you something.” Agron turns them then, sliding his hands over Nasir’s eyes. He walks them forward a few steps, can feel Nasir’s soft inhale of breath, his eyelashes tickling the base of his fingers, before they slip into the small alcove. Agron had bribed a few pixies to light it, strings of white, glowing pearls hanging to the trees and gleaming down at them as Agron slips his fingers free from Nasir’s face. 

“Oh Agron!” Nasir gasps, hand moving to his mouth as he turns back to glance at his husband, attention redrawn to the center of the space. 

“Other than hunters and beasts, the Alptraum are also known for our woodworking skills,” Agron murmurs into Nasir’s ear, leading him forward. 

The cradle is fashioned out of what appears to be four trees, their white branches woven together and crafted with careful skill. They arch above the main bedding, creating a canopy over the small mattress and woven sides. Interlaced within the bark and hanging down in a small mobile, tiny crystals and carved wooden moons and wolves sway in the soft light. The crystals have been wrapped in copper – prehnite, obsidian, tiger’s eye, quartz, onyx, diamonds, and in the center a large purple amethyst. 

“The wood is from a birch for protection, as per the Alptraum tradition.” Agron leans his cheek against Nasir’s hair, speaking softly to him, “Pietros picked the crystals for safety, positive energy, according to the Pythonissa. The purple one is-“

“Amethyst,” Nasir whispers, voice breaking on the word. 

“Pietros said it was the last thing your mother gave to you,” Agron murmurs, gently stroking his fingers along Nasir’s waist, “I thought she deserved a place to look over her grandchild.”

“You made this for our baby?” Nasir turns to look up at Agron, eyes glassy and damp. 

“For you and this baby,” Agron nuzzles his nose against Nasir’s, kissing him sweetly, “and every baby that follows.”

“You think I’m giving you more babies after this one?” Nasir teases, puckering up again for a kiss. Agron gives him not only one but three, nipping on his bottom lip on the last one. 

“I think we’re bound to have lots and lots of babies.” 

\- - - 

Laeta arrival brings a flourish of red hair and demands. Instantly she creates a list of everything the royals have been doing that are against the laws and regulations of their status. It is things from the way Saxa's skirts fit her to the ornaments on Duro's horse to the ratio of guards around Agron at all times. No one is scrutinized as much as Nasir though, who is required to completely redo nearly everything he is wearing, down even to the way his hair is braided down his back. 

She is not keen on allowing him to ride on a horse, especially next to Agron, but since Nasir refuses to ride in a wagon, she has to relent under order of the king. She does make it known that Nasir's horse must stay a step behind Agron's at all time, and that never should Steele be coaxed into a trot unless Agron's steed is already trotting. 

Laeta has been very exact, as well, about the type of knowledge and education that Nasir should have already been given. It is not enough that Nasir can speak Alptraum fairly fluently. Now he must work on his pronunciation, must work on his mannerisms. She even has given him a large book of royals to memorize - both living and dead. 

Now, she rides beside him, quizzing over him certain rules and etiquette of the Alptraum court. 

“How many people should sit along the royal table at all holidays and dinners excluding weddings, funerals, and the Moon Festival?” Laeta quizzes, staring down at her large writing book. She has a whole education to work through in the week it will take to pass through the mountains and to the castle.

“Depending on size of family,” Nasir begins, staring up at the sunlight filtering through the trees, “The king, the consort, any heirs, any siblings of the king or parents, the right hand of the king, and one key member of the consort’s entourage.”

“And in your case, who are those people?” Laeta makes a small notation in her book, swaying with her mare. 

“The king, me, the baby when it is born, Prince Duro, Solonius, and Pietros.” Nasir lists off, “As Solonius is the right hand of the king until he appoints his council.”

“Who sits on the board of Elders?” Laeta raises an eyebrow at Nasir, knowing he always struggles with this. 

“Men and women chosen for their rank within the Alptraum people,” Nasir hesitates, lifting his fingers to count.

“Old fucking nobility that has no real land to call their own so they travel around in a pack of fabric and wine, demanding things and following the king and the consort around.” Mira rides up to them, coming to ride even with Nasir. She gently hands over another large blanket to the king, followed by a large roll of bread. It is clearly a gift from either Spartacus or Agron - both obsessed with keeping him fed and warm.

“Lady Mira,” Laeta scowls, the disgust written over her face, “How do you fair?”

“Well,” Mira snaps back, aiding Nasir in wrapping the furs around him, “Spartacus warns that the winds up ahead are bitter and would see you well protected.”

“Thank you,” Nasir smiles, pulling at the crust of the bread. 

Their conversation is halted a moment later as the guards around them shift, moving in formation to guide Agron in front of them. He’s surrounded by Crixus and Spartacus, Tove and Naevia riding close behind. With Laeta’s new requirements, they must always be surrounded by guards, but no one more than Agron. There is always at least six of them around him when he’s riding, thankfully though, it mostly consists of Spartacus’ men. 

“Your majesty,” Laeta greets, bowing her head nearly to rest her forehead on the horse’s back. 

“Laeta,” Agron mutters, waving his hand, but his eyes stay trained on Nasir’s face, grin slowly pulling over it. There is something off about his expression, mischievous and bright. “Nasir.”

“Your highness,” Nasir bows his head, feeling the heat slowly spreading across his cheeks. 

“Lovely day, isn’t it?” Agron asks, keeping pace beside them for a moment, the group wide enough they nearly take up the whole road. “Perfect for riding.”

“Yes, your grace.” Nasir says it slowly, eyes narrowing as Agron just tosses his head, ignoring whatever Laeta is prattling on about.

“And how do you fair? Sore? Tired?” Agron pries more, staying oblivious to Laeta’s plots for attention. She nearly overtips her horse to compliment the beads in his horse’s hair.

“I’m well, my king.” Nasir glances over at Spartacus who seems just as confused as Nasir. “And you?”

“I aim to be very well very soon.” Agron nods once at Nasir as he rides around them, smirking slowly. He settles a few paces in front, the posse of guards and nobles fanning out around him. 

The whole exchange seems to put Laeta in a foul mood, turning sharply back to her books. She does not appreciate the way she is easily dismissed – an outsider among her own people. 

"When you enter into the court, what is the proper procedure for walking to the throne? The king is with you." Laeta snaps out, pen clutched in one hand. To the right, Nasir threads his fingers through Steele's mane and represses his sighs. 

"Agron-" Nasir is instantly cut off with a sharp noise from Laeta. 

"Your majesty, you must remember. He may be your husband, but to everyone else, he is the king – the head of our whole nation. You must address him with his full title at all times unless in private or otherwise directly instructed." she reprimands, eyes narrowing at Nasir. Nasir wants to snarl back all of the things he’s ever called Agron, including the names he’s been allowed to scream, but he quickly bites his tongue. 

"Apologies," Nasir snarks back, rolling his eyes as he continues, "King Agron, First of His Name, Beast of Alptra, Alpha Wolf Under the Mother Moon, Champion of the Northern Games, Keeper of Galena, and Law and Reason over the Great Alptraum People."

_With a cock to rival all others._

Nasir's gaze snaps forward, staring at the back of Agron's head as he rides before them. His posture gives nothing away, only a glance over his shoulder hinting at the mischief of their shared magic. Nasir burns to reply, unable as his whole magic seem to be drawn to his stomach. 

"Your highness?" Laeta prompts, eyes still narrowed. 

"Right, yes," Nasir nods, "the king will lead me forward through the crowd of royals and nobility. The crowd should stay on bended knee-"

_The king can also bend knee before you._

"Stay on bended knee until we have reached the thrones," Nasir stammers, the image that Agron produces is dirty, heat pooling in Nasir's stomach at the way Agron's face looks when his mouth is wrapped around him. Though Nasir cannot reply, he can still receive - a fact that Agron seems to be very aware of. 

"And then?" Laeta rolls her eyes, clearly unamused at Nasir's jolted speech. 

"Agron- shit," Nasir barely swallows down his moan, the images not enough. He can almost feel Agron's fingers on his thighs, parting them, breathing him in, tongue a rough drag between his legs. 

_Just think of how nice it will be to have you in our royal bed. To lay you down and lick and suck and eat you out until you can do nothing but yank my hair and scream for me_

"The uh - the king will greet the head of the royal guard, the prince, and then turn us and sit before the rest of us-" Nasir stops entirely as the image of Agron sitting naked and slick fills his mind, knees apart as he rests on the edge of the bed. Pulling Nasir into his lap, Agron works his fingers down Nasir’s ass, gripping tight and _thrusting_ into him. Nasir’s legs involuntarily squeeze together, face flushing, and Steele gives an uncomfortable snort, tossing his head.

“Will sit before us,” Nasir murmurs, voice faint as he slips his fingers under his blankets, pressing the heel of his hand to the base of his cock. He wants nothing more than to slip his clothes off, stroke his skin and leak over his fingers. 

_Has Laeta told you yet that I could fuck you in the middle of court and no one could do anything about it? I could just reach over and slip my fingers into you, keeping you wet and ready for me until I feel like bending you over the throne and slipping inside?_

"Stop!" Nasir gasps, hands turning to vices on Steele's reigns. The heat burning in his stomach pulsing down to his cock, making him impossibly hard. He suddenly needs it, fucking can't stand another moment without Agron inside of him. 

"Nasir? Something wrong?" Agron guides his horse back around, dimples denting his cheeks as he grins over at his husband. 

"I need-" Nasir can barely contain his whine, dark eyes glaring across at his husband, "I need to talk to you. Now."

Beside him, Laeta huffs loudly, shaking her head. "Your majesty, it is really important that you practice the proper way to address the king before we reach court. Any sort of wrong approach could put you at the center of a scandal-" Laeta's words fall away as Agron's grin widens, fingers twitching on his thighs. 

_Yes, Nasir, you must learn to behave. Proper punishment will have to be dealt if you don't do exactly as the king commands_

"Yes?" Nasir grits through his teeth, raising a slow eyebrow at his husband. Since they started the journey, nearly a month ago, the two royals have barely had any privacy to themselves. Now with Nasir’s heavy pregnancy and the constant moving, they have had to settle for quick hand jobs and Agron fingering Nasir under blankets and under the cover of darkness, always within earshot of a guard or another sleeping body. The idea of being able to sneak away to have some alone time is too favorable to pass. 

_I can smell how bad you want it, how your hole is clenching for me, wet and slick just with the thought of it._

Agron presents it as a challenge, slowly swinging off his horse and coming over to help Nasir down. His hands feel like brands over Nasir's thighs, his waist, his hips. He makes a point of feeling Nasir up as he helps him down, thumb purposely sliding over Nasir's nipple and pressing. 

Leaning up on his toes, Nasir presses lips to Agron's ear, tone biting and harsh. "Get me out of here and fuck me right now, or I'll find someone who will."

His laugh fills the area, Agron tipping his head back in glee before reaching out to wrap his fingers around Nasir’s wrist tugging him towards the thinning line of trees. It will only be half a day now before they reach the mountains, the woods giving way to rocks and twigs. The royal couple only make it a few feet from the paused group before Laeta’s voice calls out above the chatter of the others. 

“Your majesties, I really must protest. You must take a guard with you at all times!”

Instantly Agron freezes, teeth grinding so tightly together that Nasir swears he can hear the creak in his neck. He works to contain the biting remark that inches up his throat, growling under his breath. Beside him, Nasir closes his eyes, whimper swallowed back as he already knows what Agron is about to do. 

“I could ask for Duro and Spartacus,” Agron’s words are spit through his clenched teeth.

“You are not fucking me in front of Spartacus!” Nasir hisses back, “Nor Duro. Again.”

“Who do you want then? Naevia? Tove?” Agron glances down at Nasir. 

“No!” Tilting his head up sharply, Nasir’s eyes widen. “And don’t you fucking dare say Crixus.”

“Well?” Agron rubs a hand across the bridge of his nose. “You pick then. I can keep you covered but-“

“Just forget it!” 

Nasir snaps, yanking his hand away from Agron’s grasp and turning back to where the group is waiting. Agron surges forward a moment later, catching him by the wrist and yanking him back. He tries to ignore the fact that they are close enough that the whole group is watching them, hissing words at each other and viciously trying to keep their hands to themselves.

“Don’t be like that,” he tries for soothing, pulling Nasir against him. “What do you want me to do? What will make you happy?”

“Being out of this fucking woods and into a real place. Having this baby out of me. Being able to see my own fucking feet and fit into my clothes again!” Nasir whisper shouts, craning his neck up to look at Agron. “That would make me happy. Having the ability to ride your cock without an audience or a woman who probably has a rulebook on how I am to do that too!”

“Nasir-“ Agron chuckles, smoothing his fingers along his hairline. 

“Do I have to call you your full title in bed too? Ask permission and get a written contract from the council to suck you off?” Nasir is beginning to get a little hysterical, fury bleeding into exhaustion. 

“Of course not.” Agron wrinkles his nose, thinking of Castus having to draft that.

“Did you know that she told me we shouldn’t even be sharing a bed right now? That as consort is my job to find a replacement when I am otherwise ‘indisposed’” Nasir snaps, words coming quick and sharp. “I’m supposed to send you some pretty boy that you’ll fuck because being pregnant makes me undesirable!” 

“You are extremely desirable,” Agron growls, leaning down to kiss Nasir’s forehead. “Now hush. I’m not going to take anyone else into my bed-“

“I actually had to ask Pietros if that was something he wanted to volunteer for!” Nasir interrupts, only silencing when Agron presses a soft finger to his lips. 

“I’m not replacing you in my bed and I’m not fucking Pietros either.” Agron murmurs the words against his finger, breath warm on Nasir’s face. “We are going to go back and get back on our horses. In a while, we will reach the base of the mountains, and then three days after that, we are going to reach the castle.”

Nasir huffs loudly, but does not pull away. 

“Then, I’m going to sit next to you and you’re going to bring this baby into this world.”

“Promise?” Nasir mutters, eyes big and searching. 

“I am not leaving your side and you are not replacing yourself either.”

Agron seals the words with a kiss, ignoring Laeta the whole time while she calls out about timing and laws and the ancient requirements of the royals. 

\- - - 

True to his word, though three days later than planned, the Alptraum people finally grace the last path along the rocky mountain edge, hidden and kept safe by old magic - finding themselves at the silver road leading towards castle. It lives up to the legends, walls seeming to stretch to the sky, windows gleaming golds and ruby in the dying light. The moat is completely frozen now, but dark shadows linger under the surface - a threat all the same. The people instantly break out into song when they see it, calling out shouts of joy and relief as they begin to make their way towards the long and curved wooden bridge. 

Reaching out, Agron gently takes Nasir’s hand in his own, squeezing their fingers. The Pythonissan king stares up at the building in awe, mouth open and eyes wide. He has never seen anything as magnificent, anything as beautiful as this place. He cannot even image the inside. Nasir only allows his attention to be drawn away for a moment, just to watch that familiar grin stretch across Agron’s face, dimples denting his cheeks. 

“Welcome to Galena.”

**Author's Note:**

> For everyone asking, yes. The Lodge will be next. It has taken me so long because I rewrote major parts of it and so now it's even scarier. Keep ya eyes peeled.


End file.
